Gathering Storm
by Shauna Lee
Summary: CHAPTER 12 IS UP FINALLY! Preceded by (in chronological order) Another Day Another Case, A Much-Needed Vacation, and Home Again Home Again. Sara investigates the surveillance videos from the murder. Please R/R
1. Chapter 1

This directly follows Home Again, picking up later that same day. Strangely enough, no sooner did I decide to take a break for a bit and catch up on my reading when the next story plunked itself into my head. Fickle Muse, I had writer's block last week. Thanks to everyone who read and reviewed the preceding stories. It's such a wonderful thing to know people like my writing. And, yes DM, you and my other regular reviewers are a big part of that cyber-family! Thanks so much for encouraging me along the way. Hope you enjoy this one as much as Vacation!  
  
Disclaimer: The usual (Top Cow owns em. I don't make a dime from this.)  
  
Kenneth Irons sat in his stark and sleekly modern office atop the Vorschlag building and brooded. He had instructed his secretary to hold all calls that weren't emergencies and admit no one to see him. The various computer monitors around his office all showed the same images, but the volume was off. Kenneth was not watching them in any case. Somehow, his office felt emptier than it had in a long time. He stared at the wall, at nothing in particular, toying with a gold-plated pen.  
  
He pondered how he could have lost control so quickly. In his perfectly pressed gray Armani suit, immaculately polished Italian leather shoes, not a single pale hair out of place, he was the very definition of control. The episode in the hospital room with the fair Sara had completely blindsided him, and he detested being surprised. Anything less than complete control was unacceptable to him after all his years of being unquestioned master of both his private and business domains. But somehow Sara had managed to wrench a portion of that control from him, and he felt a burning need to get it back.  
  
True, what she had said was absolutely correct. Ian did spend nearly all his time watching Sara anyway, and Ian's absence would be no greater than before. Irons did not really lose anything by agreeing to Sara's request, and he gained her cooperation in an arrangement that meant the continuation of his very life. That made Kenneth the victor in that encounter, didn't it? And Ian would have a chance to learn happiness in the arms of a woman. Kenneth wanted Ian to be happy. Didn't he?  
  
But what if that happiness distracted Ian and someone or something got through his guard to eliminate the Wielder? Kenneth was entirely too sure he would not survive another thirty years until the next Wielder was chosen. And Ian's loyalty could be compromised, turned instead to the woman who showed him all the pleasures he had been denied for the sake of his duties. Sex would be a powerful weapon in Sara's hands, if she chose to use it, and Ian had no knowledge or experience with which to fight back, or even recognize an attack when it came. What would Kenneth do then? Who would he be able to trust to serve him with such devotion and precise ruthlessness as Ian did?  
  
But the risk was worth it to have Sara's cooperation. Wasn't it?  
  
As Kenneth continued to brood, dark clouds began to gather over the city.  
  
* * * * *  
  
Sara signed out at the hospital desk and gathered up the paperwork and prescriptions she needed to take home. Ian had her bag in one hand, waiting by her side until the formalities were completed, then took her hand and led her out of the brightly lit corridor into the rapidly fading light of a stormy day. His car was not far, but it was beginning to rain, so they hurried as much as Sara's wound would allow. She was shivering when they reached the vehicle, so Ian slung his coat over her shoulders before he opened the door for her. The ride back to her apartment was not too long, and Sara rode with her head leaning against Ian's strong, warm shoulder the entire way.  
  
She was surprised to see the door repaired, and Ian pulled a new set of keys out of his pocket for the knob and dead bolt. He smiled at her expression and swung the door open for her.  
  
"I wouldn't leave your apartment vulnerable, Sara," he said, smiling, dropping the new keys into her palm. His copies already hung on his key ring.  
  
"Wow, Ian, thanks," she said, looking over the door jam. There was a new frame running up the lock side of the door, with a metal strip reinforcing the locks so it would be much harder to kick the door in again. The brackets the security bar slid home into on the inside of the door were also reinforced. It would take a battering ram and several strong men to break in now.  
  
"I took the liberty of having all your windows similarly reinforced and secured," Ian said. "There are probably only five people in the world who could open them without shattering the glass."  
  
"You being one of them," Sara remarked with amusement, quirking her eyebrow at him.  
  
"Of course," he grinned.  
  
The apartment had been hastily cleaned, and quick repairs had been done. The bullets had been pried out of the walls by the police for evidence, but it was Ian who had borrowed the carpenter's spackle and tried to patch the holes. He had had plenty of time to do what he could while the carpenter and locksmith were plying their trades, and he had been far too worried to just sit and watch. A much more thorough cleaning would be needed to get all the blood off the floor, but Ian had gotten pretty much all of it out of the couch fabric before he left, knowing once it dried it would be nearly impossible to get back out completely. Sara noted all this, and the look on her face and quiet but earnest "thank you" were all the thanks he needed. He merely folded her in his strong arms and gave her a gentle hug in reply.  
  
"Nothing sucks more than coming home from the hospital after being shot and finding the place in a mess," Sara said.  
  
"We'll worry about the rest of it later, my love. Now, you need some rest, and I need to go get some things from my old home."  
  
"I guess this means I need to clean out my closet, huh?" Sara said with a weary smile. Ian laughed.  
  
"Perhaps we should order a dresser or two," he suggested. "I won't be too long. Did you want anything while I'm out?"  
  
"More orange juice, and some ice cream? Other than that I don't know what we need." She grimaced. With Ian cooking, he knew the contents of her fridge far better than she did, and he had taken over the shopping.  
  
"I'll take care of it," he said, giving her a sweet kiss, then heading out the door. She locked it behind him, then went to check her messages. There were four.  
  
"Hey Pez," the voice of Vicky Po came from her machine. "We just got Dante and Orlinski's bodies down here. What the hell is going on? Are you all right? Call me." Click, beep.  
  
"Detective Pezzini, this is Captain Branson, from Internal Affairs. Agent Kronin of the FBI has shared all his evidence with me. You know we have to hold a hearing, procedure and all, but I don't think you have anything to worry about, especially with that audio tape. Just relax and get better. You're on leave for a week." Click, beep.  
  
"Hey Partner," Jake's voice said. "I made sure my boss got in touch with I.A. so you shouldn't have anything to worry about. Sorry I couldn't come by to see you at the hospital, but I had a lot of paperwork to fill out and people to talk to. They're keeping me pretty busy. I left my cel on for you, though. Call me and let me know how you're doing." Click, beep.  
  
"It ain't over, bitch! You didn't kill all of us, and you're gonna pay!" Click, click, silence.  
  
Sara sat, staring at her answering machine, her hands beginning to shake. After everything else, it was too much. She put her head in her hands and cried. Ian felt her distress and fear.  
  
~Sara, my love, what's wrong?~  
  
~I just listened to my messages, Ian. One of the Bulls is threatening me.~  
  
~I'm almost at the mansion now. Do you want me to turn around?~  
  
~No, you get your things and hurry back. I'm calling Jake.~  
  
~Call Gabriel too,~ Ian suggested. ~Have him keep you company, if he can.~  
  
~Good idea. I love you. Hurry home.~  
  
~I will, my Lady,~ Ian replied.  
  
Sara picked up her phone and called Jake's celphone. He answered on the third ring, sounding slightly annoyed.  
  
"Jake? Can you come over? I have more evidence for you," Sara said, her voice stressed.  
  
"Can it wait," Jake asked. "I'm in the middle of giving a statement right now."  
  
"While I was in the hospital someone left a message on my machine threatening me."  
  
"Are you there alone now," Jake asked.  
  
"Yeah,"  
  
"Okay, I'll be right over. Stay put until I get there."  
  
"Will do, Jake. Just hurry, please?"  
  
"On my way," he replied. The call cut off, and Sara dialed Gabriel.  
  
"Talismaniac," the young businessman's voice was cheerful.  
  
"Hey, Gabe, it's Sara. You busy right now?"  
  
"Not really," he replied. "What do you need?"  
  
"Company?"  
  
"Really?" He was surprised. "Not information on the Twitchblade?"  
  
"Really, Gabriel. Just company."  
  
"Uh, sure. C'mon over."  
  
"Can you come over here," she asked. "I kinda have to stay put. The Feds are on their way over to pick up some more evidence against the White Bulls."  
  
"Feds? White Bulls? Whoa, Sara, what's going on?"  
  
"I'll tell you when you get here," she said, and hung up.  
  
* * * * *  
  
Ian entered the mansion on Faust Street silently, feeling distinctly uncomfortable. He had really never thought of any other place as home, and now he was here to collect his things and leave that definition of this place behind forever. The long halls, silent as always, gave the impression now of hiding secrets, no longer comforting as they once were. He let his gloved fingers trace their way down the wall as he walked, feeling like a child in a way, poised on the threshold of becoming his own man at last.  
  
His footsteps echoed slightly as he walked down the hall to his room, pausing at the door to let his gaze sweep over the darkened room. Curtained in heavy black fabric, the windows were hidden, though he could hear the wind rising beyond the glass. He flicked on the light, his eyes adjusting instantly to the brightness. Deciding what to take and what to leave would be difficult. His two suitcases were not large, and Sara didn't have very much room. Besides, he would want to keep some clothing and weapons here, since he was still working for Irons, and undoubtedly the availability of changes of clothes for any occasion would come in handy.  
  
Shaking himself out of his indecision, he started packing up the laptop he had bought for the trip to Mexico. It had it's own case, and was quickly tucked away with all the attendant software and wires. Now that he was actually moving, packing became a lot easier. One suitcase for clothing, starting with the things that had some color, finishing with his black work clothes, and one suit folded very carefully on top. The other for his personal items, starting with his set of traditional Japanese swords, various items of interest he had picked up on his travels with the military, and later with Irons, favorite books. Then the rest of his arsenal, even the rifle, which he quickly disassembled so it would fit in the case. A few other items in the little space that was left, and he was ready.  
  
Suitcase in each hand, laptop strap across his shoulder, he gave his room one last glance, then shut off the light and closed the door behind him. He stopped by the kennels to pet the wolfhounds for a few minutes, then headed back to his car in the underground garage, grateful he did not have to walk through the rain to his car. As he finished setting the last bag in the trunk the garage doors opened. Kenneth Irons had arrived home. Ian closed the trunk and stood waiting, head down, arms clasped in front of him. Irons climbed out of the back seat as the driver held the door and stood looking at Ian for a minute.  
  
"Come to get a few things, Ian?"  
  
"Yes, sir," Ian replied neutrally.  
  
"So you intend to go through with this," Irons said, his tone between amusement and regret.  
  
"Yes, sir," Ian replied simply.  
  
"Well, remember boy, you will always have a room here if things don't work out with our fair Sara." His tone had changed to be kind, wistful. "She is a woman of some temper, and you may find her more difficult to get along with than you thought."  
  
"Thank you, sir," Ian said, daring to look up at Irons briefly. There was surprise and regret in his eyes.  
  
"Second thoughts, young Nottingham," Irons asked.  
  
"I want to be with Sara, sir," Ian replied. "I wish it had not meant leaving here."  
  
"A difficult decision, indeed, Ian," Irons sighed. "We will discuss it more later. You should not leave Sara alone for too long. Report to me at the usual time tonight."  
  
"Yes, sir," Ian replied, inclining his head respectfully. As he turned to go Irons stopped him.  
  
"Oh, Ian," Irons handed Ian a slip of paper. "Your receipt of electronic deposit to your account."  
  
"Sir?" Ian was confused.  
  
"Part of my deal with Sara," Irons reminded him. "Your paycheck. So you can buy her flowers and take her to dinner, I believe she said. You'll also find another bonus for your years of loyal service deposited to your investment account." Irons smiled. "I think you will find I have been quite generous."  
  
"Thank you, Sir," Ian said, unsure exactly how to respond, what to think. Irons put his hand on Ian's shoulder.  
  
"Despite appearances sometimes to the contrary, I am very proud of you, son. I want you to know that. Now go to your Lady. I will expect you tonight."  
  
Ian bowed his head again, then stood and watched as Irons walked to the door and entered the mansion. He was very thoughtful as he got back into his car and pulled out into the rainy streets. 


	2. Chapter 2

A/N: Well, here's the next chapter. I apologize for taking so long, but you know how life is. In response to the decision of Fanfiction.net to restrict what we can write, I know many writers are looking for other places to post their stories. For those of you who already have them posted on your own web pages, please check out http://home.attbi.com/~witchblade1 It is a sort of index where you can have your link posted so people can go one central place and still find all of us. There aren't many links there now, but with word of mouth it could become the best place to go to read our stories, so if you think it's a good idea please tell others. As always, please R/R. I really enjoy hearing from all of you. Thanks!  
  
Ian checked with Sara to be sure she was alright, and learned Gabriel was already there and Jake was expected momentarily. Feeling it was safe to take the time, Ian stopped at the grocery store, then the hardware store. His car was pretty full by the time he made it back to Sara's building. Gathering up the groceries, he went up to the apartment and knocked, his arms too full of bags to fish for the key. Sara knew it was him and threw the door wide immediately, grabbing some of the bags from him as soon as she realized his predicament. Gabriel eyed Sara in disbelief from behind her shoulder.  
  
"What the hell is he doing here, Sara," Gabe demanded.  
  
"Moving in," she said bluntly, heading for the kitchen with Ian to deposit the bags of food on the counter.  
  
"Yeah, right, Sara," Gabe said. "Pull the other one."  
  
"Seriously, Gabriel," Sara said. "I haven't gotten to that part of the story yet, but Ian is moving in with me." Gabriel was looking back and forth between them in disbelief. Ian couldn't resist the temptation to shock Gabriel, and he pulled Sara into his embrace for a long, wet, deep kiss. She chuckled wickedly in his mind, knowing exactly what he was doing. When they finally pushed apart Gabriel's jaw was hanging. Sara couldn't help laughing at his poleaxed expression.  
  
"I have more in the car, Gabriel," Ian said. "Would you please help me bring it up?"  
  
"Um, sure, I guess," Gabriel said, following him back out the door while Sara began putting the groceries away. On their way down in the elevator Gabriel kept eyeing Ian strangely. Ian was amused by the situation, and touched by the way Sara had been so blunt and unafraid to state their new relationship to one of her closest friends.  
  
"Go ahead and ask, Gabriel," Ian said.  
  
"You two are really going to live together?" Gabriel blurted out.  
  
"Yes, Gabriel, we are," Ian answered gently, knowing the young man was still afraid of him because of their past encounters.  
  
"How did that happen?"  
  
"Not overnight, I assure you," Ian replied. "We had come I contact so many times that we finally decided to be something less than enemies. Then we became friends. Then something more."  
  
"How much more," Gabriel asked almost challengingly. Ian could sense his protectiveness towards Sara, and decided to give the young man the absolute truth. He looked Gabriel in the eyes.  
  
"We are soul mates, Gabriel. She is my other half, my very life. I would die for her."  
  
Gabriel was taken aback by Ian's reply, and by the fierce passion beneath the words. He believed Ian, completely and utterly.  
  
"An assassin and a cop," Gabriel said as the elevator reached the bottom floor. "You're in for a hell of a ride."  
  
Ian smiled at the young man's attempt at humor as the elevator doors opened. Jake stood on the other side, waiting to go up to Sara's apartment, and he stepped back warily upon recognizing who was coming out of the elevator. Gabriel grinned, decided to enlist Jake to help carry bags, stepped out and took Jake's arm. Ian followed behind, wondering how to handle this situation. Jake would never trust Ian, and certainly would object to the relationship. He decided to refer all Jake's questions to Sara and leave it at that.  
  
"Great timing, McCarty," Gabriel said as he spun Jake around to head back down the hall with them to the front door. "Ian picked a few things up for Sara, and we need help bringing them up."  
  
"What's he doing here," Jake asked Gabriel in almost a growl, glaring over his shoulder at Ian.  
  
"Ask Sara," Gabriel said simply.  
  
"She's still in danger, Gabriel," Jake said.  
  
"Not from him." Gabriel pulled Jake back out into the rain. Ian was surprised at the firm tone Gabriel used, and that he would defend Ian so quickly after questioning him. He mourned again his lack of comprehensive knowledge of the better side of human nature.  
  
They reached the car and loaded up quickly. It was raining harder now, and there was a distant rumble of thunder. Ian gathered his luggage out of the trunk while Gabriel and Jake grabbed the stuff on the back seat. As quickly as they could they dashed back into the lobby, dripping water all over the floor while they waited for the elevator. When it finally came they all loaded into the elevator, Ian ending up in the front. Jake finally noticed that what Ian carried was suitcases, and jumped to some conclusions.  
  
"What the hell are you doing, Nottingham," Jake snarled. Gabriel backed into the corner as far as the confines of the elevator would allow. Ian simply turned to regard Jake with a cool, neutral expression on his face.  
  
"To what, exactly, are you referring, Agent McCarty," Ian asked coldly, though he had seen the direction of Jake's gaze right before his outburst, and had a fairly good idea what must be running through Jake's mind.  
  
"The suitcases," Jake snarled. "You don't think you're moving in, do you? Taking advantage of Sara's confusion to push some sick agenda of yours?"  
  
Ian took one slow, deliberate step towards Jake, pushing his face close to Jake's, and looked him straight in the eye. Gabriel tensed, expecting bloodshed at any second. Jake met Ian's cold, ruthless gaze and blanched, having forgotten exactly to whom he was speaking in such a manner. When Ian spoke, his voice was laced with danger.  
  
"I understand your concern for your friend, Agent McCarty. Her welfare is of the utmost importance to me. If you ever dare imply otherwise to my face again, be assured I will take offense and act upon it."  
  
The elevator chimed and the doors opened onto Sara's floor. Jake edged out of the elevator and into the hall past Ian, who was grinning maliciously now at his back. Gabriel gave him a funny look, and Ian's expression changed to one of pure innocence. Gabriel just shook his head and grinned back. They reached Sara's apartment as she was opening the door for Jake. She told Gabriel and Jake to put their bags on the couch, and Ian slipped into the bedroom to drop his suitcases at the foot of the bed. When he came back out she was poking through the bags, trying to figure out what he had gotten.  
  
"Vertical blinds, Ian," Sara asked, arching one brow quizzically.  
  
"Your windows are woefully open to the world," Ian responded.  
  
"What, you think some sniper is going to climb up to the roof over there and shoot Sara?" Jake snarled.  
  
"It could easily happen again, Agent McCarty," Ian said with icy calm.  
  
"Again," Sara asked pointedly.  
  
"Yes, Sara," Ian replied. "A few months ago a contract hit man for Mr. Gallo tried the same thing."  
  
"And just how would you know that," Jake demanded, feeling brave again after the confrontation in the elevator, and hoping Ian would let something slip that could be used against him.  
  
"I hear things, in my line of work," Ian said, with the clear implication that Jake should have heard those things too, in his line of work, and was found lacking because he had not.  
  
"And what line of work is that," Jake demanded.  
  
"Bodyguard to the most powerful man on the planet," Ian said, in a tone that reminded Jake to watch his step. Jake bristled, and Sara stepped in, tired of the verbal sparring between them.  
  
"Jake," she broke in between them smoothly. "I'm sure you have to get back to the Bureau soon, so let me play you that tape. Gabriel, would you please help Ian start hanging the blinds? I happen to agree that they're a good idea."  
  
"Um, sure," Gabriel said, turning to Ian for directions. Ian grabbed the bags and retreated to the bedroom, leaving the door open so they could hear while Sara played the tape for Jake. As she fast-forwarded to the relevant message, Ian leaned against the doorframe, watching and listening. As Sara played the threatening message for Jake, Ian's jaw tightened, and a murderous gleam entered his eyes. Gabriel took one look at Ian and retreated completely into the bedroom and began unwrapping the blinds and sorting out the hardware to hang them. Jake popped the tape out of her machine and tucked it into a pocket.  
  
"Don't worry, Sara, we'll find this guy. Meanwhile, watch yourself, and try not to go anywhere alone."  
  
"I know the drill, Jake," she said, amused.  
  
"Speaking of alone," Jake murmured, leaning closer so he wouldn't be overheard. He had no idea just how sensitive Ian's hearing was, or he wouldn't have bothered. "Why is Iron's pet assassin here with his luggage?"  
  
"He's moving in, Jake," Sara said, her tone a cross between warning and amusement. "We've been seeing each other for a while, and he's not only a world-class bodyguard he's a great cook."  
  
"C'mon, Sara," Jake said, disbelieving. "He's a hired killer."  
  
"You're a White Bull," Sara snapped back, getting tired of Jake's attitude. "Things aren't always what they seem, are they Jake?"  
  
"That's different," Jake replied.  
  
"That's so cliché, Jake. Look, who I date is my business. I appreciate your worrying about me, but I'm safer with Ian than anyone else on the planet. If you want to worry about me, worry about who's threatening me. Worrying about Ian is a waste of time."  
  
"All right," Jake said, conceding temporary defeat in the face of Sara's determination. "I'll get this analyzed and let you know as soon as we find anything."  
  
"Thanks, Jake," Sara said, giving him a quick hug before walking him to the door. Jake looked once at Ian, who stared back unwaveringly, then said goodbye to Sara and left. Sara leaned against the door for a minute, then sighed and turned back to Ian and Gabriel.  
  
"Now, what are we doing with these drapes," she asked, a ghost of a smile on her lips. 


	3. Chapter 3

A/N: Sorry it took so long to get this small bit put together. There have been tons of distractions, and it ain't easy to concentrate when your grandmother who can't hear so well blasts the tv while you're trying to write. It's not her fault, and I'm not complaining, but boy will I be happy when we're done with the remodeling downstairs and I can move my computer. Trying to work in the kitchen just isn't conducive to good writing. Please visit the Witchblade Fan Fiction Index, especially if you are a writer. I'm gathering links to everyone's fiction pages in one place, so they will be easy to find. http://home.attbi.com/~witchblade1  
  
When the three of them had finally finished installing all of the new blinds, Ian and Sara talked Gabriel into staying for dinner. He agreed more out of curiosity than anything, wanting to know if what Sara said about Ian being a great cook was true or not. Ian was in the kitchen doing magical things with olive oil, chicken and asparagus. Sara tidied up a bit and set the table, chatting with Gabriel as she did so. She left Ian mostly alone to concentrate on his cooking, because he was very nervous, wanting everything to be perfect for his very first real guest.  
  
Gabriel had to admit that Ian was a superb cook, swearing he had missed his calling by becoming an assassin. They joked and teased good-naturedly all throughout the meal and dessert. When Ian started doing the dishes, Gabriel confessed he had to get back to his shop and check his messages. Sara walked him to the door.  
  
"He's alright, Chief," he told her. "I admit you had me worried there at first."  
  
"I'll bet," she replied with a grin.  
  
"Yeah, well, you seem to know what you're doing, and he really does love you. Just be careful, okay?"  
  
"Always," she assured him, giving him a hug, then shutting the door behind him as he left. Sara went back into the kitchen to help Ian with the cleaning up.  
  
"So, did I pass inspection," Ian asked good-naturedly, up to his elbows in steaming soapy water.  
  
"Yes, you did, as if you didn't know," she replied with a grin.  
  
"I will admit I don't always understand people," Ian confessed. Sara picked up a towel and started drying and putting away dishes so there would be room in the drainer for the pots and pans.  
  
"What do you mean, Ian," she asked.  
  
"When I first got back and Gabriel was here, when we headed down to the car he did the protective friend routine and asked me what was going on. I looked him in the eye and told him exactly how I feel about you. By the time the elevator got to the lobby and we ran into Agent McCarty there, Gabriel was defending me."  
  
"That surprised you," Sara guessed.  
  
"I did not expect young Gabriel to let go of his mistrust of me so easily."  
  
"He's a really smart kid, Ian," Sara reminded him. "And he knows how to trust his instincts."  
  
"Perhaps he just trusts you," Ian said.  
  
"Could be," she said.  
  
"I have to report to Mr. Irons tonight, Sara. Will you be alright here alone?"  
  
"Sure," she replied. "I'll leave all the blinds closed and maybe take a bath."  
  
"Hm, why don't you watch some tv, and wait til I'm back so I can take a bath with you," Ian suggested with a wicked gleam in his eyes.  
  
"I think that's a great idea," Sara replied, grinning.  
  
"I'll be back as soon as I can," he said. "I am under the impression it's a routine report, but Mr. Irons may want something else. I'll let you know if I'll be delayed."  
  
"Just be careful, love," Sara urged. "I have the faintest nagging feeling that his agreement came too easily."  
  
"I believe he feels he got the better end of the bargain," Ian said. "He gave up very little for your promise of cooperation, and that promise is invaluable to him."  
  
"Yeah, you're probably right," she sighed. "I just still have this feeling that something isn't right."  
  
"Sara," Ian said, taking her hands and looking deeply into her eyes. "I believe in you. I trust your instincts. I will be careful, and keep my eyes open, and when I get back we'll talk more about it, see if we can pinpoint why you are uneasy." Sara stepped into his arms and held him tightly, taking comfort from his strength.  
  
"Thank you, Ian," she murmured against his chest. "There's a lot about the Witchblade that still confuses me, makes me uneasy. It's you that gets me through it."  
  
"Anything for you, my Lady," he replied, stroking her hair. "But now I have to go."  
  
"I know," she said. She walked him to the door. He slung his coat around his shoulders with a flourish, giving her an impish grin and a fierce kiss, then stalked off down the hallway as she shut, locked, and barred the door behind him.  
  
When she turned back around Danny was sitting on her couch. Sara's face lit up in a smile.  
  
"Hey, Danny," she said. "Where have you been lately? I haven't seen you since Mexico."  
  
"You haven't needed me, Sara," he replied. "And I thought you could use a little privacy."  
  
"C'mon, Danny, you know I'll always need you. Though I do appreciate the privacy."  
  
"Your life is coming together, Sara," he said. "You're learning to embrace your destiny as the Wielder, and have accepted your Knight Protector. You've found your balance, and you're learning to control the Witchblade. But your greatest battles are still ahead of you."  
  
"Yeah, I don't expect to live happily ever after. None of the others did." She sat on the couch next to Danny, wishing she could touch him, slug him on the arm like she used to, hug him, anything.  
  
"Who told you that, Sara," Danny asked.  
  
"Irons did," she replied after a moment's thought.  
  
"And has he always been truthful?"  
  
"Come to think of it, he does tend to twist the truth to suit him." Sara thought for a minute. "But Joan and the others didn't deny it."  
  
"Because for them it was true. But you haven't met, or even heard of, every Wielder."  
  
"What are you saying, Danny?"  
  
"The fate of the Wielder is not necessarily the same every time. It's largely up to you, in the end."  
  
"You mean, I control my destiny?" Sara stared at him. "But the Witchblade controls everything in my life now, drawing to me what it needs," she said, echoing Dominique Boucher.  
  
"Who's to say you can't pull the strings too," Danny asked.  
  
Sara glanced down at the Witchblade on her wrist, and when she looked up again, Danny was gone. She sat a long time in thought before turning the tv on.  
  
***** ***** ***** ***** ***** *****  
  
Ian silently stepped into the room where his master, his father, waited. Irons was immaculate as always, not a speck of dust on his charcoal-gray Italian silk suit. The wolfhounds at his feet raised their heads and thumped their tails in greeting. Irons set his wine glass down and moved an ebony chess piece across the board, his rook capturing a pawn, before looking up to where Ian stood patiently, waiting for acknowledgement. Irons studied the young man for many minutes as Ian simply stood with head bowed and hands clasped before him, waiting.  
  
"So how are things with our fair Sara tonight," Irons asked at last, turning his gaze to the fire burning in the huge fireplace.  
  
"She is well," Ian said. "Her wound gives her no more than minor discomfort, and is healing quickly."  
  
"No doubt aided by the Witchblade," Irons replied. Ian nodded.  
  
"Her control of it seems to be growing," Ian observed. "It seems the time off from the stresses of her job has given her the opportunity to explore the bond she has with the Witchblade and learn much."  
  
"Indeed," Irons murmured. "And have you been learning much, young Nottingham?"  
  
"I am learning many things, Sir," Ian replied. "I am learning how to cook," he announced with a ghost of a smile. Irons shot him a startled look, as much for the hint of humor in his voice as the confession.  
  
"She isn't turning you into her domestic servant, is she Ian?" Irons was amused.  
  
"No, Sir," Ian replied. "It is self defense. Sara cannot cook well at all, and the more we go out the more opportunities for her enemies to attack her."  
  
"You have reported in the past she does tend towards pizza and Chinese take- out." Irons grimaced. "A steady diet of that would ruin your health."  
  
"Yes, Sir," Ian said, hiding a smile.  
  
"Would you like lessons with my cook, Ian," Irons impulsively offered. He noted with satisfaction the eager glint in Ian's eye.  
  
"I would appreciate that very much, Sir," Ian said.  
  
"I will see to the arrangements, then," Irons said.  
  
"May I still use the gym and the pool, Sir," Ian asked hesitantly. He had no idea how much access he was still allowed to the manor now that he had moved out.  
  
"Of course," Irons replied, feigning surprise at the question. "This is still your home, Ian. Even if you choose to live elsewhere. If I thought Sara would accept, I would invite her to come live with us, but we both know she is far too independent a creature for that. But do feel free to bring her around. Just let me know ahead of time if you wish to stay for dinner."  
  
"Thank you, Sir," Ian said, deeply touched by the gesture.  
  
"As a matter of fact, why don't you bring her around Saturday night. I still need you to handle security for that party I'm throwing, but there's no reason Sara couldn't come too. After all, she's a police officer. A little more security never hurts."  
  
"Thank you, Sir, I'll ask her." Ian wasn't sure what to think of the offer, but he would love to spend the evening with Sara by his side. Irons' parties tended to be deadly dull.  
  
"You can use the opportunity to buy her a new gown," Irons suggested. "She may not have anything appropriate for such an occasion."  
  
"That is likely so, Sir," Ian said.  
  
"Is there anything else I need to know, Ian," Irons asked.  
  
"Yes, Sir," Ian replied. "Sara is still being threatened by the White Bulls. When she got home from the hospital there were several messages on her answering machine. One of them was a death threat from another Bull, saying she hadn't gotten all of them and she would pay."  
  
"Indeed," Irons replied, thinking for a minute. "The Bulls have outlived their usefulness to me, Ian. Do whatever it takes to find and eliminate the threat to Sara."  
  
"I understand, Sir. I'll take care of it immediately."  
  
"Good. Thank you, Ian," Irons said kindly, but it was obviously a dismissal. Ian inclined his head respectfully and slipped out as silently as he had come.  
  
Irons brooded as he stared into the flames, swirling his wine idly in the glass. He was sure he still had Ian's loyalty, but it didn't hurt to reinforce it. He would do as much as he could persuade the boy to be here, with or without Sara, and he would use that time, that proximity, to bind Ian even tighter to him. Perhaps he could still bind the Wielder to him as well through Ian. He would have to work carefully, but he was a patient man. He was confident he would be in control of everything again in time. 


	4. Chapter 4

A/N: Sorry this took so long to get out to you all. I don't do it on purpose, but things just land on me. And for a while I had gotten to a certain point and then everything refused to work, everything sounded like crap. Inspiration has finally returned, my muse is done sulking, and I seem to have unblocked. I sincerely hope it was worth the wait. Please let me know if you like it.  
  
  
  
Sara shut off the tv when she felt Ian coming up the hall, greeting him at the door with a kiss that went on for quite some time. He grinned when they pulled apart, slipping off his jacket and taking her hand to guide her to the bathroom. Ian ran the bath while Sara lit candles and picked a bubble bath scent. They undressed each other and sank together into the steaming water, Sara leaning against Ian's chest, circled in his strong arms. They soaked for about ten minutes, content just to be in each other's company, before Sara couldn't resist asking about Ian's meeting with Irons.  
  
"So, what did Kenny want this time," she asked.  
  
"He asked about your health," Ian said, tracing his fingers absently over her breasts, making patterns in the bubbles.  
  
"Nice of him," she snorted. "Anything else?"  
  
"He is still allowing me, and you for that matter, access to the gym and the pool at the manor. He has invited us to make as much use of the facilities as we wish, and to let him know when we'd like to stay for dinner."  
  
"Really?" She was somewhere between astonishment and shock, with a dose of suspicion in there as well. "That's awfully generous of him."  
  
"Indeed," Ian said, amused at her reaction. "He has also offered to arrange for his chef to give me cooking lessons."  
  
"What?" Sara sat up, sloshing water out of the tub. "Who is that man and what has he done with Irons?" she demanded. Ian chuckled.  
  
"I suspect it is a way for him to feel he is still involved in every aspect of my life," Ian ventured.  
  
"Still trying to control everything, huh?" Sara considered that, and found it perfectly in character.  
  
"I have to work security at another of his social events this Saturday," he said.  
  
"Oh, yeah, I remember you mentioning that," Sara replied.  
  
"He says I am to invite you to accompany me," Ian told her. "I believe his words were, 'After all, she's a police officer. A little more security never hurts.' I would enjoy the evening so much more if you were there with me."  
  
"Hm," she considered for a moment. "I bet it gets awful boring just standing around watching everybody."  
  
"Yes, it does," he admitted. "There's noone I can snipe about the astonishingly tacky clothing with."  
  
"What do people wear to these parties," she asked, mentally going over the contents of her closet.  
  
"The men wear designer suits and the classier women wear gowns."  
  
"I think I have a dress I could wear," she said thoughtfully.  
  
"Not a dress, a gown," Ian stressed.  
  
"What's the difference," Sara asked.  
  
"At least a thousand dollars," Ian informed her, managing to keep his expression serious.  
  
"Whoa," Sara said. "A thousand dollars for a dress?"  
  
"No," Ian replied with a grin, teasing her. "A thousand dollars for a gown. At least."  
  
"Ian, I can't afford to spend that kind of money on one piece of clothing."  
  
"I can," he said. "And I would be honored and delighted if you would allow me to buy you a gown."  
  
"Ian, I don't want you spending that kind of money on me," she said. "I don't need you to buy me expensive things for me to love you."  
  
"I know that," he reassured her. "But I would like to show up with you on my arm clothed exquisitely, so all the men will envy me and all the women will be jealous of you. If I am to come out from behind Irons, I want it to be memorable. I have been ignored, standing at his shoulder, for years. Now that it's my turn, well, I want to make an impression."  
  
"Well," she said slowly, thinking as fast as she could. "I guess I understand that. But if I have to get a new dress - excuse me, gown - then you have to get a new suit. Something that isn't black."  
  
"That's fair," he conceded. "I guess we're going shopping tomorrow."  
  
"Where are we going to shop," she asked. "Fifth Avenue?"  
  
"Yes, but the place we are going is rather, um, exclusive," he replied. "One of those places you don't know about unless you can afford it."  
  
"Irons shops there?" she guessed. He grinned.  
  
"Of course. Now rinse off those bubbles, because I have some rather wicked plans for you." Sara laughed and turned on the water.  
  
***** ***** ***** ***** *****  
  
The next morning, after awakening Sara to an absolutely wonderful breakfast and an entire pot of gourmet coffee, Ian drove her to the shop. The store front did not look like a store front, but as soon as they stepped inside they were greeted by a very expensively and fashionably dressed lady who knew Ian by name. She introduced herself as Rachel to Sara and swept them into a semi-private room with coffee and snacks, then proceeded to grill them politely on the occasion they were shopping for and their personal preferences in color and style. When she swept out of the room to go collect different outfits for them to try Sara looked over at Ian, wondering just what she had gotten into. He grinned back and kissed her hand.  
  
"Don't worry, my love, " he urged. "Rachel is very good at what she does. Try to have fun with it."  
  
"Are you having fun," she asked, a note of challenge in her voice.  
  
"Yes, actually, I am," he replied. "I used to come down here to pick up whatever suits in black that had been ordered for me. I'm actually looking forward to trying things on. I really don't have any idea what color suits me best."  
  
"Anything that accents your eyes," she replied promptly, making him grin. "Or nothing at all," she suggested with a wicked grin.  
  
"Not in public, love," he replied, laughing. "Though I would love to see some of the expressions if I should try it."  
  
"On second thought, you'd better not," Sara said, laughing. "I'm liable to hurt someone while beating the women off of your gorgeous body."  
  
"Here we are," Rachel said as she swept back into the room with her arms full of gowns, followed by another woman with accessories and two men with clothing for Ian to try. After hours of trying things on and arguing good- naturedly over the whole thing, they finally made their decisions. Sara chose a stunning silk and velvet gown in burgundy that had rhinestone accents, spaghetti straps at the shoulders and lacing up the back, and hugged her curves down to the waist where it flared out to a full skirt. Black heels with burgundy straps and more rhinestone accents finished off the look perfectly. Ian chose a charcoal gray suit coat and slacks with a silk mock-neck top the exact same shade as Sara's dress. The ensemble made him look classy, relaxed, and confidently modern with the mock-neck instead of traditional shirt and tie. Sara thought she may have to beat off other women after all, he looked so completely gorgeous.  
  
The tailor came in and measured, marked, and pinned. As carefully as they could, Sara and Ian took off their new outfits and changed back into their regular clothes. They handed over their new outfits to be hemmed and tucked, assured the finished garments would be delivered via courier by Friday to Sara's apartment. Sara was somewhat disconcerted that the entire time they were there not a single price had been mentioned. She supposed if you couldn't afford it you wouldn't be allowed to shop there anyway.  
  
"Are you ready for lunch, my love," Ian asked as they stepped out of the shop, Rachel closing the door behind them.  
  
"Definitely," Sara said, linking her arm in his. They walked until they found a place and enjoyed a wonderful lunch together.  
  
"Did you have fun with the shopping, Sara," Ian asked.  
  
"I actually did," she admitted. "I was a little worried about it. I mean, what do I know about gowns. But it was fun."  
  
"I'm glad," he said. "I've never enjoyed shopping before. Mostly all I did was stand still while Irons sent the staff scurrying and chose everything for me. I guess I slouch in my suits because it was a way to rebel against the way he ordered my life. He had everything I owned exquisitely tailored, and I could make it look bad so easily."  
  
"Ian, that's awful," Sara said, laughing. "I love it!"  
  
"I have my moments," he grinned.  
  
After lunch they walked in Central Park, then headed back to the car and Ian drove them back to the apartment. He cooked a lovely dinner and set the table with candles and wine while Sara tidied up and ran some laundry. They chatted about the upcoming party, only a few days away, while they ate. Ian had Sara in stitches with his gossip about all the important people who would be there. He knew she had been a bit nervous about being around so many powerful and wealthy people in a social setting, and his stories served to diffuse that nervousness by making her see them as nothing but human.  
  
As Sara finished the last of her wine Ian came around to take her hand and lead her to the couch, going to one knee before her and taking her hands in his. As he gazed up into her beautiful eyes he could sense her confusion at his behavior. For a moment all he could do was look at her, his love and devotion to her shining out of his eyes. She waited patiently for him to begin, sensing he had something important to tell her, but unsure as to whether it was good news or bad.  
  
"Sara," he began, his voice a little shaky. "You know I love you more than life itself. In you I have found my purpose, my cause, my lifemate, the keeper of my heart and the other half of my soul. I would die for you without a moment's thought." He paused to gather himself, taking a deep breath. "My lady, my love, will you marry me?"  
  
"Oh, Ian," Sara replied, tears gathering in her eyes. "Yes, my love, I'll marry you."  
  
Ian reached into his pocket and pulled out a small black jewelry box, opening it to reveal an absolutely gorgeous ring. A large round cut center diamond flanked by clusters of three smaller diamonds to either side set into 18-carat gold nestled in the box. Sara's jaw dropped, knowing the center stone had to be at least two and a half carats by itself. Ian took it out of the box and slipped it onto her finger, where it fit perfectly. The diamonds sparkled and flashed, catching the light. She gaped at it a moment longer, then threw herself off the couch into his arms, hugging him fiercely and crying.  
  
"Oh, Ian," she cried. "I love you so much."  
  
"I love you too, my Lady," he said softly into her ear. 


	5. Chapter 5

A/N: Deepest apologies for making you all wait so long for this next chapter. With all the things going on in my life, and the fact that I haven't been sleeping at all well, I have not been able to concentrate. It also didn't help that my hard drive failed on me and I had to take time to rebuild and set up my computer. Too many computer problems lately. Fortunately I learned long ago the virtues of backing up my data, so I didn't lose much that couldn't be replaced or recreated. It just wasted time I could have been using to try to write putting my computer back together. I hope everyone that celebrated Thanksgiving had a super one, and that the coming holidays find everyone well and in good spirits. As always, I really appreciate your reviews (not to mention your patience!).  
  
As Sara and Ian lay in the tangled covers catching their breath, Sara snuggled closer into the circle of Ian's arms. The Witchblade swirled lazily, warmly content against her wrist. She glanced down at her new ring, trying to let it sink in that she and Ian were engaged. Only a few months earlier she had been calling him psycho freak, completely convinced he was as bad as Irons. Now everything was changed. Nothing in her life was ever simple. She wondered why she kept expecting it to be.  
  
"What do you think Irons will say," Sara asked.  
  
"Do you think we should let him know so soon," Ian asked, a little apprehensive. "He just found out two days ago we wanted to live together."  
  
"He'll freak, huh?" she guessed.  
  
"Irons doesn't freak," Ian said, a teasing gleam in his eye. "He's too well bred for that."  
  
"A conniption, then," Sara offered. Ian chuckled.  
  
"I think we should not tell him, for now," Ian observed. "I don't want to risk angering him so that he does something we'll regret."  
  
"But honey, I don't want to take it off." Sara looked disappointed.  
  
"You'd have to take it off for work anyway, my love," he reminded her. "Maybe we should get you a necklace chain and you can wear it that way when you can't have it on your finger."  
  
"Hm," she considered. "I have a small wooden lacquered box it might fit in. I could keep it in my pocket. Chains break too easily, and I worry enough about losing the pendant you gave me. Maybe I should just wear it on my other hand for the party."  
  
"That should work. We'll say it was simply a gift."  
  
"I want to tell Gabriel," Sara said.  
  
"We'll have to have him over for dinner again, then," Ian said.  
  
"If you cook, I guarantee he won't say no," Sara said.  
  
"I'd like to invite Allyson too," Ian told her. She smiled.  
  
"Great idea," Sara said. "She and Gabriel hit it off pretty good when they met at Maxis the other night. That way we can tell both of them at the same time."  
  
"How about Friday night?"  
  
"Perfect," Sara said. "That gives you time to plan a menu and shop, and me time to clean the place up. I haven't given it a thorough going-over in too long."  
  
"So, tomorrow is shopping and cleaning day, Friday is the dinner, and Saturday is the party. What do you want to do today?"  
  
"I hadn't thought about it," Sara admitted. "What do you have in mind?"  
  
"I was hoping we could look at furniture today. You know we need at least one more dresser, and I would really like to get a bookcase if we can figure out a good place to put it."  
  
"That sounds like a good idea," Sara agreed. "Lets hit the shower and get going."  
  
  
  
* ***** ***** ***** ***** *  
  
  
  
Showered, dressed, several measurements in hand, Sara and Ian headed for the first of the furniture stores they planned to visit that day. The weather was threatening to rain, heavy black clouds turning the day gloomy. Ian parked as close as he could to the store and they went in. They politely refused the salesman's help and prowled the store with their tape measure, trying to come to a compromise on color and style they could both live with. Ian wanted classic rich dark wood, and Sara kept looking at modern glass-and-steel bookcases. They argued good-naturedly through the store, taking notes of model numbers and prices of the pieces they liked.  
  
After going through the contents of three other furniture stores they took a break for a late lunch, going over their lists together. As they were finishing their spaghetti from the Italian café they had chosen Ian paused mid-syllable, going tense. Sara instantly knew something was wrong. The Witchblade swirled angry red and hissed in her mind, confirming her suspicions that someone or something dangerous was nearby. The hairs on the back of her neck went up, and when her eyes met Ian's she found them cold and black, the eyes of a killer.  
  
~What does the Witchblade show you, Sara?~ Ian asked her through their mind- link.  
  
~Nothing,~ she replied. ~Just a warning of danger, anticipation of a fight, maybe.~ She grimaced. She managed to control the bloodlust the Witchblade tried to force on her, but it never ceased trying.  
  
~I probably shouldn't tell you this,~ Ian confessed, ~but Irons ordered me to eliminate this threat to you. It looks like it's going to get bloody before it's over.~  
  
~Why do I have the feeling that's an understatement? Sara replied, her mental voice grim. Do what you have to do, love. I'll back you up.~  
  
Ian picked up his glass of water, casually taking a sip as if nothing was wrong, as if there weren't a private conversation going on in his head. Sara followed suit. They pretended nothing was wrong while they finished their lunch, then Ian excused himself to use the restroom. While Sara waited for, then paid the bill, Ian slipped out the back to prowl around, heading for the rooftops to try and identify Sara's stalker. He was sure it was one of the White Bulls, and when he spotted the man too-casually lounging in a doorway across the street from the café with a perfect view of Sara his suspicions were confirmed. He recognized one of Dante's associates, a lesser one, but definitely a Bull. Ian marked the man for a visit later, then returned to the table where Sara was going through the contents of her purse in feigned boredom.  
  
"Ready to go, love," Ian asked. He had shared all his information with Sara already via their mind-link.  
  
"Ready," she replied, tossing a few stray items back into her purse and rising. They casually walked out to the car and got in, Sara driving so Ian could keep an eye on the situation and act quickly if need be. Ian kept track of the Bull following them all the way back to the apartment. When Sara pulled into a parking place in front of their building Ian watched the man following them drive past and around the corner out of sight.  
  
"Sara, go up to the apartment but don't go in. Check the door for tampering, and I'll go up the back way and check the windows."  
  
"You think the Bulls managed to get inside," she asked.  
  
"Not likely, but I don't want to take any chances." Ian smiled, kissed her quickly, then slipped out of the passenger seat and down the alley to the fire escape. Sara went in the front door and took the elevator. Ian had already checked the windows for tampering and let himself in before the elevator delivered Sara to her floor. She didn't see anything wrong with the door, so she let herself in. Ian was prowling around the apartment, double checking everything.  
  
"I have to go out tonight and take care of this," he said.  
  
"I'll come with you," she offered, but he shook his head.  
  
"If you're here, they'll be watching you, and I'll know where to start looking for them. As long as you keep the shades down and the door barred you'll be safe enough here. Until it gets dark, we'll stay put and see what we can find out about our friend from the café."  
  
Sara cleared space on the table while Ian set up the laptop, logging into and out of some very high security databases. They found the man from earlier quickly, and Ian committed everything there was on him to memory. His name was Bryan Harris, a cop from Special Cases who seemed to be on loan to Homicide under special assignment to Dante. There were three other instances of cops on loan to Dante for "special assignments" from various departments in the precinct.  
  
Sara watched Ian carefully for a few minutes as he scanned quickly through the information on each man, hacking effortlessly into high-security databases. Drawing a few conclusions, she turned to Ian with amusement in her eyes.  
  
"You've done this before," she accused.  
  
"Done what," he asked absently, scanning through another file.  
  
"Hacked into the New York Police Department's records to research the White Bulls," she clarified.  
  
"Irons required the information," Ian replied. "Since they were harassing you I got into the habit of keeping an eye on them. I'm not really learning anything I didn't already know here. I'm just verifying that things haven't changed since the last time I looked before I decide what to do."  
  
"Oh," Sara replied. She figured she was better off not knowing exactly what he was doing, or what he was planning. Being a cop, engaged to a world-class assassin, was going to take some compromises, and outright blind faith, on both their parts. She fixed him some coffee, got herself a cup, and curled up with a book while he worked.  
  
After a few hours, when the sun had sunk below the city skyline, Ian stood and stretched. Sara put down her book and stood, slipping into his embrace for a gentle hug and a lingering kiss, then watched him gear up. She was absolutely amazed at how much hardware he could conceal about his person and in his long overcoat. She would have pitied Ian's victims if they weren't so deserving of their fates. Finally equipped, Ian kissed Sara soundly, admonished her once more to stay put, and slipped out the door. She watched him stalk down the hall, a deadly hunter passing silently into the night (or at least the elevator) until he was out of sight. She locked and bolted her door, then turned on the television to pass the time.  
  
  
  
* ***** ***** ***** ***** *  
  
Ian opened the door to the roof of Sara's building carefully, checking with every one of his senses to be sure he was alone before passing through the door. He wasn't alone, so he slithered silently through the door and came up behind the man kneeling at the edge of the roof, staring intently down at the fire escape that ran down past Sara's apartment, a rifle with night scope held ready. Ian loomed up behind him, grabbing the gun and snapping the man's neck in one move. He resisted the brief yet intense impulse to do to this man what he had done to Gallo's hitman on the opposite roof not so long ago, leaving the body lying on the tar paper instead. He scanned the rooftops and alleys around the building and spotted two more Bulls, one lurking by the front of Sara's building, the other on the opposite rooftop watching Sara's windows. Ian grinned and took advantage of the handy silenced rifle the dead man had provided, eliminating the threat on the other rooftop with ruthless efficiency.  
  
Taking several more minutes to scan and rescan the area around the building, Ian was finally satisfied it was safe to descend and made his way swiftly down the fire escape to the ground. He worked his way unnoticed around the back of the Bull watching the front entrance and eliminated him with a well-placed blade in his back that stopped his heart. As the man slid slowly to the ground Ian walked away as if he had merely been passing by. Noone noticed the body until Ian was out of sight. Wrapping the knife in clean white tissue, he slipped it into an inside pocket to clean later.  
  
Heading through the concealing shadows of night, he made his way to the quiet neighborhood where the new head of the Bulls lived. An older cop with a wife and grown children, Andy Grecco had been with the Bulls since they formed. Grecco was watching television with his wife. Ian slipped inside and waited patiently for almost half an hour for his chance to act. Finally, the wife got up to go to the kitchen, leaving Grecco alone in the living room. Ian eased into position and pulled the trigger. The soft whump of the silenced weapon and the sound of the bullet impacting flesh as it entered Grecco's ear and tore through his brain were lost in the noise of the commercial running on the tv. Ian dropped the shell casing with the mark of the White Bulls onto the carpet by Grecco's feet and slipped out and away before the wife came back in and discovered her husband dead on the couch.  
  
Ian slipped back into the comforting depths of the night, sparing a moment's thought to pity the poor woman he left behind with Grecco's corpse. After a quick phone call to Irons, Ian made his way back to Sara's apartment building to watch from a distance as the police finished investigating the stabbing death of an off-duty cop that had died there earlier. Pretending only a mild curiosity, he walked past the taped-off scene and into Sara's building without raising any eyebrows. Satisfied with the night's work, he returned to the welcoming arms of the woman he loved.  
  
  
  
* ***** ***** ***** ***** *  
  
  
  
Kenneth Irons brooded over what Ian had reported. Satisfied that Ian was dealing with the threat to Sara, nonetheless he was restless. Something was not quite right. Perhaps it was something in Ian's voice, perhaps it was intuition, Irons didn't know. Resting his forehead against the coolness of his brandy glass, he considered the situation from every possible angle, then decided he was reading more into things than was there. He would watch Ian and Sara closely Saturday night. Until then, Irons was content to wait. 


	6. Chapter 6

A/N: Determined to not make you wait again for a while, I devoted my morning to putting this together. It's great to be hearing from all of you reviewers again. It has been too long away from my fanfic family, and I missed you all. Things ought to stay calmed down for me for a while, at least til Christmas week, so I am hoping to get time to read as well as write. I especially intend to get caught back up with DM's stuff - miss you! If any of you are new to my series, it goes in chronological order: Another Day, Another Case; A Much-Needed Vacation; Home Again, Home Again; Gathering Storm. I've noticed some new names on my reviews, and wanted to toss that out for anyone who needed it. You can also find all my Witchblade fics at www.angelfire.com/scifi2/aimspar as well as the X-Men story I kind-of have going. Happy reading, and please continue to review.  
  
  
  
Ian went out the next two nights, prowling the city for White Bulls. There were snipers on the roof across from Sara's both nights, but none on her own roof. The city was abuzz with rumors of some maniac with a grudge against cops prowling the city. The police were at a loss as to why they should be finding their own officers and detectives dead up on rooftops with high-powered sniper rifles in their hands and bullet casings with bulls tattooed on them scattered about. Jake called Sara at one point to see if she knew anything. Since she told Ian she didn't want to know what he was up to she could honestly tell Jake she had no details on the case for him.  
  
When Jake hauled Ian in for questioning, one quick phone call brought Irons down to deal with the situation. The suave billionaire insisted on speaking directly with the Deputy Director in charge of the Bulls case, and within minutes he was walking out with Ian at his side. Jake grumbled, but there was nothing he could do when Kenneth Irons insisted Ian had been with him for the last four nights around the time of the murders, working on details for security for the upcoming party Saturday.  
  
"Well, Ian," Irons said as the chauffer closed the limousine door. "You've created quite a stir."  
  
"Yes, sir," Ian said simply, sitting across from Irons. The driver headed back towards the Vorschlag offices.  
  
"I was in an important meeting when the call came," Irons informed him, then sighed and smiled. "You certainly have the police on their toes."  
  
"I'm sorry you were disturbed," Ian said.  
  
"Don't worry about it, Ian," Irons smiled thinly. "What's the use of all my power if I can't make people wait for me."  
  
Ian looked down in the vicinity of his shoes.  
  
"Come, Ian," Irons said soothingly. "Have lunch with me. I want to hear what you've been doing the past few days."  
  
"May I make a call," Ian asked, pulling out his cel phone. Irons nodded and Ian hit the autodial for Sara's apartment, knowing she was there cleaning up for dinner tonight with Gabriel and Allyson. Sara picked up on the third ring, already knowing who was on the other end of the line.  
  
"Hi Ian," she said. "What's up?"  
  
"Mr. Irons wishes to have lunch with me today," Ian informed her.  
  
"Will you be back in time to cook," she asked.  
  
"I should be. Would you be able to pick up the groceries? The list is on the fridge."  
  
"Sure, Ian. But if you aren't here by four I'm coming after you," Sara warned teasingly.  
  
"Thank you, Sara."  
  
"I love you, Ian," she said softly.  
  
Ian hung up the phone, sending a wordless surge of love in reply through their link. That had been awkward at best with Irons sitting right across from him.  
  
"Did you have other plans, Ian," Irons asked.  
  
"No sir,' Ian replied. "Sara and I are having company for dinner, and I am cooking. I just wanted to be sure she could pick up the groceries since I will be delayed."  
  
They arrived at Vorschlag before Irons could reply. Ian followed Irons in, a step behind as usual. Irons had a brief word with his secretary, ordering lunch to be sent up to his office immediately. They did not talk as they took the elevator up to Irons' office. Irons sat while Ian remained standing at his side, one step behind his shoulder. The usual post brought Ian a measure of comfort with its familiarity. So many things had changed in his life so quickly, he wondered sometimes how he could have left the familiarity of his former life. He closed his eyes briefly, picturing Sara's face, remembering her touch, and felt a wave of unconditional love flow to him through their bond as she felt his thoughts on her. Any price was worth it to have her love, he knew, and was vaguely ashamed he could doubt even for a moment.  
  
Ian's eyes snapped open as the food was brought in. The secretary set down the tray with quiet efficiency and retreated quickly. Two plates of beef tips in light gravy, new red potatoes with chives and butter, fresh rolls, spinach salad with Caesar dressing, and cheesecake for dessert. Irons glanced over the meal and slid a plate to the other side of his desk, waving Ian around to sit and eat.  
  
"Come, sit, Ian. Join me. Tell me all about your new life."  
  
Ian pulled a chair up to the other side of the desk and took the plate Irons offered. He started with the cheesecake, a personal favorite, and Irons smiled. When Ian was a boy he had always tried to start with dessert and had been scolded sternly for it. It was an obvious sign that he was gaining some measure of independence. After the cheesecake was gone Ian looked up almost sheepishly and caught the amused gleam in Irons' eyes.  
  
"What do you want to know," Ian asked, a little uncomfortable but hiding it well.  
  
"How are things going with our lady Sara," Irons asked.  
  
"There is some adjusting on both our parts," Ian admitted. "She is as unused to living with someone as I am. We are still trying to decide how best to rearrange the furniture to accommodate both of our needs, and we cannot agree on new furniture."  
  
"Fighting already?" Irons was archly amused.  
  
"No, sir." Ian shook his head. "We don't fight, we just don't agree. We are still trying to find a compromise. I think it will end up with my style choice in the bedroom and her style choice in the living room, since my style preferences don't really match the rest of what she has. Not that hers really matches from piece to piece either," he laughed.  
  
"And she has you cooking for her guests," Irons mused, implying he was being used.  
  
"I actually enjoy it. I've pretty much taken over the kitchen with new gadgets, and she seems glad to let me. It is a pleasure to be able to create something for a change."  
  
"Hm, I'm sure," Irons said. He had expected Ian and Sara to have fought over something by now. He was happy that Ian was settling in well, but at the same time jealous of the deepening relationship and his diminishing control of the young man.  
  
"And how is your love life," Irons asked casually. Ian blinked, color seeping into his cheeks.  
  
"Incredible," Ian responded shortly, uncomfortable with this subject in particular.  
  
"And our lady has not been, ah, impatient with your lack of experience?"  
  
"Sara is a wonderful teacher," Ian said, allowing an infatuated grin to creep across his lips.  
  
"Well," Irons said. "That's good. Have you noticed any unusual behavior from the Witchblade?"  
  
"Unusual?" Ian paused to consider. "No. The Witchblade seems to be content to leave Sara in peace for the moment."  
  
"Hm. That is strange," Irons said. "The forces of darkness have not reached critical mass. All that she has been through so far is just the beginning. It should be testing her, training her for the battles ahead."  
  
"Perhaps she is being allowed to find her inner strength," Ian said. "Some time to heal."  
  
"Weapons of war are forged through fire, Ian," Irons reminded sternly. "None of the others were allowed to rest."  
  
"Sara isn't like any of the others," Ian reminded him.  
  
"True." Irons considered for long moments while Ian finished his salad, then decided to change the subject. "I heard you took her shopping for the party Saturday."  
  
"Rachel told you," Ian guessed.  
  
"Of course. I have been assured that you two will be dressed quite appropriately." Irons looked quite amused. "I would have loved to have been there to see what our fair Sara made of Rachel."  
  
"Actually, after the first few minutes Sara seemed to enjoy the experience," Ian said.  
  
"She has no idea what you paid for that outfit, does she," Irons asked.  
  
"She wouldn't have let me buy it if she knew," Ian said. "She thought a thousand dollars was far too expensive as it was."  
  
"Well, I won't betray your secret, Ian. I am looking forward to seeing the lovely Sara all dressed up tomorrow night. You will let me dance with her, won't you?"  
  
"If she wishes," Ian replied.  
  
"Is there any reason she wouldn't?"  
  
"Perhaps," Ian replied, then elaborated when Irons raised an eyebrow and waited. "She is suspicious of your motivation for letting me move in with her so easily, and is convinced you are up to something."  
  
"Ian, I'm always up to something, you know that." Irons laughed. "As for your relationship with Sara, she caught me off guard. Few people have ever done that. If she's worried that I am plotting to pull you two apart, please tell her to relax. I gave my word I would let you try your relationship, and I will."  
  
"Thank you, father," Ian said softly. Irons warmed to hear Ian's words. The boy almost never called him "father" anymore, and he found he missed it, regretted the loss.  
  
"After the party tomorrow night, why don't you two stay over," Irons asked. "It will be late, and you can share your old room. Everything is just as you left it. A brisk swim and a workout in the morning, followed by a nice breakfast."  
  
"Thank you, sir," Ian said. "I'll ask Sara."  
  
"Do you have to ask Sara for everything," Irons asked.  
  
"No, sir," Ian replied, ignoring the implication that he wasn't able to make his own decisions. "But neither of us make decisions for the other without discussing it."  
  
Irons backed off from that, the tone of Ian's voice a subtle warning. He didn't want to alienate the boy, after all.  
  
"In any case, I hope our fair Sara will consent to stay. I find I miss your company, and the hounds are missing you. Although I don't know how Sara would feel about sharing the bed with two enormous dogs."  
  
"She likes dogs." Ian rose, having finished his meal. "Is there anything else you require, sir?"  
  
"No, Ian," Irons replied. "Go and enjoy your evening. I will expect you tomorrow at noon."  
  
"Yes, sir," Ian responded, inclining his head and turning to walk out of the office.  
  
Irons continued to sit while the remains of his meal cooled on his plate, staring at the wall and turning over all that Ian had said in his mind. He would wait and see what the evening brought tomorrow, how Ian and Sara interacted, before deciding anything. 


	7. Chapter 7

A/N: Once again, my humblest apologies for taking so long to post. This is a short one, mostly because it has really been giving me trouble. I don't like to post anything under 3 pages (in Word) but I just couldn't make the conversations I wanted to do work. I've redone this one sooo many times I'm getting sick of it. So, no more stalling, rewriting, or hair- pulling. Here it is, for your enjoyment (I hope). After this, I promise some action at Kenny's big bash.  
  
  
  
When Ian got back to the apartment building Sara was still a few minutes away with the groceries, so he waited in the lobby to help her carry stuff up. Since he had been detained by the FBI, she had been able to take his car, and consequently had quite a few more bags of food than she would have been able to handle on the bike. Being on vacation had the disadvantage of not being able to use a precinct squad car to do her shopping on her lunch break, so she was very pleased to be able to have the use of Ian's car. They managed to get all the bags in one trip between them, and headed up to the apartment together.  
  
As soon as they had set the groceries on the kitchen counter Sara tackled Ian and kissed him long and hard. He laughed and hugged her tight.  
  
"I missed you, Ian," she said and kissed him again. "Do you suppose we have time to."  
  
"Only if you care to join me in the shower," Ian said. "I need to get cleaned up and changed before I start cooking, but time's getting short."  
  
"I'll scrub your back if you scrub my front," she offered impishly. He grinned and grabbed her, pulling her shirt off over her head. They headed for the bathroom, stripping each other as they went, and had a very pleasant half hour under the steaming hot water before actually soaping up and rinsing off. Ian toweled briskly, finger-combed his damp curls, and headed to the bedroom to get dressed so he could start cooking. Sara took the time to blow-dry her hair, since she knew there was little she could do in the kitchen to help Ian.  
  
In the half hour it took Sara to get ready Ian had the kitchen in complete disarray and the apartment was filling with wonderful smells. She picked up their scattered clothing and tidied a few more things she hadn't gotten to before leaving for the grocery store, then went to watch Ian cook. He was dicing chicken into cubes and tossing it in with frying onions and garlic, then adding white wine. The smells were really making Sara hungry, especially since she had forgotten to eat lunch.  
  
"I noticed our outfits for the party tomorrow are here," Ian said.  
  
"They delivered them as I was about to head out for the store," Sara replied. She had hung them very carefully in the closet. "Can I help with anything," she asked.  
  
"Um, yes," he replied. "The garlic French bread." He told her how he wanted it, and she got it ready for the oven, then helped with the salad. By the time Allyson arrived everything was ready and Ian and Sara were relaxing on the couch with some wine. Sara had turned her ring so the stones were towards her palm to help preserve the surprise, so Ian could make the announcement himself. Gabriel arrived a few minutes later, handed Sara some flowers, and gave her a hug. There was small talk, and then Ian ushered everyone in to the table and started serving the food while Sara poured the wine.  
  
"This is great, Ian," Allyson said as she tried the chicken stir-fry. "You're really getting good."  
  
"Thank you," Ian replied, blushing a little.  
  
"I hardly ever have take-out or pizza anymore," Sara said. "Ian is spoiling me."  
  
"You spoil me in other ways, love," Ian replied. Gabriel made a disgusted face at the couple's gooey-ness and Allyson laughed. Dinner progressed in light spirits, and it was becoming obvious that Gabriel was more than a little interested in Allyson, and she in him. Sara and Ian exchanged a significant look.  
  
After dinner was cleared away Ian brought out champagne and chocolate éclairs. He popped the stopper expertly and poured four glasses, then raised his in a toast.  
  
"To my lady Sara, who has agreed to be my wife," Ian said. Sara grinned, Gabriel's jaw hit the floor, and Allyson gave a delighted shriek and hugged Ian, then Sara, fiercely.  
  
"You're not kidding," Gabriel said, half believing they were pulling his leg until Sara twisted her ring around to show the gorgeous stones off. He stared at it for a minute, then looked at Ian. As it sank in he got a big grin on his face and pulled Sara into a hug and gave her a brotherly kiss, then shook Ian's hand.  
  
"Congratulations, you two," Gabe said. "This is great."  
  
"Thank you, Gabriel," Ian said. "You two are the first to know."  
  
"Wow," Gabriel said, surprised. "Irons doesn't even know yet?"  
  
"No," Sara replied. "And we want to keep it that way. It's going to be a secret for a while, especially from Irons."  
  
"Promise," Allyson said.  
  
"Me too," Gabriel agreed.  
  
The rest of the evening was quite festive. Especially after Gabriel and Allyson left. 


	8. Chapter 8

A/N:  Well, I'm back again.  A little suspense to whet your appetite for the party to come.  And I won't make you wait more than a day or two before I finish this.  Now that that blasted dinner with Gabriel and Allyson is over with I'm having a great deal of fun with this again.  I hope you have as much fun reading!  Thanks for the four of you who posted reviews so quickly to last night's chapter.  I appreciate it no end!

"All is ready," Ian told Irons.  Sara waited a few steps behind him, dressed in her usual crop top and jeans.  Ian was still in his "stalker outfit" minus the jacket.  The guests would be arriving for Iron's party within the hour.  All security systems, guards, servers and other personnel had been checked and re-checked by Ian and Sara.  The caterers had dropped off their goods and left already.  The dogs were loose on the grounds.  Kenneth was already attired in a silver-gray suit of silk, immaculate from head to toe, every inch the master of his domain, rich and powerful without being gaudy.

"Thank you Ian," Irons replied, his glance including Sara as well.  "Time for you to change, then."

Ian inclined his head and turned, heading out of the study and down a hallway.  Sara went with him to his old room, where their outfits were carefully hung.  The servants had gone over the clothes to be sure there were no wrinkles, lint, or any other flaw.  Sara worked on her hair and makeup, Ian keeping her company, sitting by her side and watching with interest while she put on her makeup.

"Why is it women can't apply mascara without their mouths hanging open," he asked after she was finished.  She punched his shoulder playfully, grinning.  They had had this particular conversation before, and she resolved to ignore the question this time.  Last time it had lead to a tickle-fight she had lost.

"Why is it bad-ass stalkers always forget to eat when they're working?" she replied.  "We haven't had anything since breakfast and I'm hungry."

"If I were to slip into the kitchen and liberate a ham sandwich for you, would you be grateful," he asked teasingly, a suggestive grin on his face.

"I promise to reward you enthusiastically later, when this damn party is finally over with," she said, taking up a curling iron.  "Especially if you manage to liberate a soda to go with it."

"Your wish is my command," he teased, bowing with a flourish, then heading out.  She grinned after him, then turned her attention back to her hair.

A hiss from the Witchblade gave her a bare second's warning before it plunged her into a vision.  She caught glimpses of a room full of elegantly dressed people that she recognized as Irons' ballroom.  A man moved through the crowd, a gun in his hand, unnoticed by the socializing elite.  She couldn't see his face, just that, like many others, he was wearing a black suit jacket and slacks, and his hair was dark.  He raised the gun, pointing it towards where she and Ian stood with Irons, discussing something.  The man pulled the trigger, the gun went off with a roar and a flash, then the vision ended.  The Witchblade released it's hold on her mind abruptly, swirling red for a moment before subsiding.

~_What happened, love_,~ Ian asked from the kitchen, sensing her distress.__

_~I got a vision,~_ she replied.  _~Now I really need that sandwich.~ _

_~I'll be there in a minute,~ _he assured her.

When he returned he handed her the sandwich without a word, waiting until she had finished half of it before asking her anything.  She told him, in as much detail as she could recall, exactly what she had seen, and he growled in frustration.  There really wasn't too much to go on.

"What should we do," she asked.

"I don't know," he said.  "The man you saw could have been a guest, a driver, one of our security team, anyone.  Too many people wear black suits."

"And we don't know for sure who he was aiming at either," she pointed out.  "It could have been a White Bull after me, or one of Irons' business rivals could have hired someone, or be bringing them, for that matter, to take him out.  Or maybe someone is after you."

"Until the actual attack occurs, we have no way of knowing," Ian said.  "The best we can do is be on our guard.  You finish getting ready, and I'll go talk to Irons about it, see what he wants to do."

"Alright," she sighed.  She hated waiting.  She had the urge to do something about this attacker now.  As Ian headed towards the door, she stopped him.  "Hey Ian?"

"What, my love," he asked.

"Remember that if it comes down to a choice between guarding me or Irons, I can protect myself.  I have the Witchblade, he doesn't."

"Thank you, my love," he said, coming over and wrapping her in his arms.  He had been wondering, if it came down to it, which way he would jump.  Sara understood, and had solved the problem before it could tie him in knots.  His duty was to Irons, but his instinct was to protect his beloved.  Now he could do his duty without hesitation.  He went off to speak to Irons much calmer.

Irons was in his study, where he was having a brandy and relaxing before the guests began arriving.  Ian tapped on the doorframe, then entered.  Irons put down his glass, looking Ian up and down, then raised one questioning eyebrow.

"Why haven't you changed yet, Ian," Irons asked, his tone disapproving.

"Sara has had a vision, sir," Ian replied.

"Indeed," Irons said, setting down his glass and giving Ian his full attention.  "And what has the fair Sara seen?"

"Someone at the party tonight will try to kill one of us."

"Tell me," Irons ordered.  Ian gave him all the details of Sara's vision.  Irons sat silent for several minutes, considering.  "Well, I am not calling off my party because of this," Irons said.  "I do not think it is one of our security guards.  We have checked them too thoroughly.  Concentrate on the guests and their companions, and simply forbid anyone except those on the guest list from entering.  I trust you to take care of this, Ian," Irons said, clearly dismissing the matter, and Ian.

"Yes, sir," Ian said, bowing his head, and left.  By the time he got back to his room Sara was slipping into her dress.  He grinned and helped her zip up the back.  He changed quickly into his outfit, and they stood side by side, admiring the handsome couple they made in burgundy, silver, and black in the long mirror on the back of the door.

Sara had done her makeup a little darker than usual, and added a light dusting of a shimmering silvery powder to her skin that gave the faint impression of an argent glow.  There were sparkling pins set into her dark hair, and her silver and ruby heart on a silver chain Ian had given her lying on her chest.  Ian had surprised her with a delicate diamond and ruby bracelet to go with the necklace after Gabriel and Allyson had left the evening before, and she had the Witchblade on her wrist as always.  Her engagement ring was on her right hand, sparkling brilliantly with every movement of her finger.  The rhinestone accents on the dress and shoes finished the look perfectly.  Ian was incredibly handsome in the charcoal slacks and jacket, the burgundy mock-neck bringing out his eyes, his curly dark hair tumbling down around his shoulders.

"You look like a fairy-tale princess," Ian murmured in her ear.

"Then you are my tall, dark, and handsome prince," she replied, her love for him sparkling in her green eyes.

"Are you ready, my Lady," he asked.

"Lets go turn some heads," she replied.


	9. Chapter 9

A/N:  Hi everyone!  Well, after-Christmas clean-up and my sister coming into town in a week have had things very busy here.    Not to mention the start of tax season, which is twice the mess for me since I have to gather up the stuff for mine and my grandma's.  All this by way of apology for the wait for this chapter.  I thought it would be the last one, but it sort of got away from me again (they have a habit of doing that!)  I can see at least 2 more chapters now off of this.  I'll try not to leave you hanging too long.  Thanks to those who review, especially my "regulars", and welcome to the few new names I've seen turn up in my reviews the past few chapters.  Anyone who wants the whole thing from beginning to end can also find it all on my web site, in the Stories section, at [www.angelfire.com/scifi2/aimspar][1]

Ian and Sara directly preceded Irons into the room for security reasons, but it somewhat spoiled the billionaire's entrance because the few people who weren't arriving "fashionably late" were all staring at the gorgeous couple.  They glided into the room together as if they were one creature, every step, every polite smile, every breath in synchronicity.  They prowled about, meeting the guests that had already arrived, then the ones who were just entering, trying to get an indication from the Witchblade who the assassin might be.  When the Witchblade made no sign and they had met everyone, they returned to Irons' side, flanking him, so they could consult on their next move.

"Well, we cannot make a fuss now," Irons said, smiling politely, with the edge of a predator in his grin.  "Keep your eyes open and continue to circulate."

Ian nodded, Sara smiled tightly, and they walked out into the crowd.  Many of these people were rich and powerful.  If Irons had any peers, they would be these people, but the suave ice-blond had no equal in wealth or power.  A party like this was more for business than pleasure.  It was a way for Irons to remind everyone who alpha wolf was in this power pack, as well as exchange information, cement loyalties, and keep a wary eye on those who dared to threaten his empire.  Ian had seen it from his master's side all too often, and he knew everything there was to know about each of them.  The only ones he did not have a complete dossier on were the "companions" of the elite, the guests of the guests.  These were the ones Ian and Sara kept a close watch on.

Sara for her part was a little uncomfortable, feeling out of her depth surrounded by such an elite gathering and pretending to be one of them.  She had to keep reminding herself that she was dressed the equal of any of the women, and as the Wielder probably surpassed every single one of them in actual power.  They may think they had the fate of the world in their hands, but she actually did.  Not that that was something she would have chosen for herself if she had been asked.

Ian was enjoying the attention, especially the looks he was getting from those who realized they had seen him before and dismissed him as nothing more than a servant.  He was being reevaluated in the eyes of many this night.  Was he Irons' partner, his heir, or was he going to challenge Irons?  How much importance did he have, how much information?  Could he be bought, bribed, blackmailed?  Or could he be seduced, a great many of the women, and some of the men, were wondering.  Would he be an ally or a rival to their plans?  The petty scheming he could read in their eyes amused him.  He had spent all his life at Irons' side, and knew the game well, perhaps better than most of them.

They wandered over to the bar to get drinks, opting for ginger ale, though many assumed it was champagne.  Scanning the room as they sipped, they compared notes mentally and had to admit neither one of them had a clue who the shooter was, or ,more properly, would be.  The music started, something akin to a tango, and Ian got a wicked gleam in his eyes.  Sara answered his grin, and as one they set down their glasses and moved onto the dance floor.  Noone else was dancing, and many were watching the elegant couple closely as they glided to the precise center of the floor, waited until precisely the right moment, then began to move precisely together.

Gazing into each other's eyes intently, they flowed smoothly, gracefully across the floor, their movements perfectly matched.  The steps were somehow classic and yet not, as they danced closer to each other than was customary, their bodies flowing against and around each other as they moved in perfect harmony.  The result was subtly erotic, sensuous, and many of the guests couldn't look away.  Light flashed off of Sara's jewels, was absorbed by Ian's dark, silken curls.  They stepped, spun, and ended with Ian dipping Sara to the last quavering note of the violin.  Noone applauded, that would be gauche, but there were many admiring looks, and none too few jealous ones.  Irons looked like he couldn't decide between approval and anger.

Ian handed Sara graciously into a chair, then went to get them both more drinks.  At the bar he was approached by a woman who had always ignored him before.  Rich and powerful, Isabella was a former lover of Irons'.  When she had finally realized Irons wouldn't marry her and give her access to his vast empire she broke it off in a huff.  Now it seemed she was targeting Ian as her second chance at that empire.

"Well, Ian," she purred, sliding up to him and twining her arm in his as if they were old friends.  "I never knew you could dance like that."

He looked the petite Spanish beauty up and down slowly before gently removing her hand from his arm.  She resisted, but he was subtly firm, disentangling her from him without causing a scene.

"If you had ever paid any attention to me at all, Isabella, you would have known there was a great deal more to me than guard and errand boy."  Ian's tone was quiet but firm as he replied to her in her native tongue.

"Indeed," she said, still trying to be sensuous and attractive, running her fingers down his chest.  "A mistake I won't make twice.  Perhaps we can go somewhere and get better…acquainted?"

"I have a companion," Ian pointed out, amused.  Sara sent an inquiry to him, watching from across the room.  He sent back and amused "don't worry" and she relaxed.

"That woman cannot offer you what I can," Isabella purred, pressing in against his body.

"What do you think to offer me that she can't," he asked while maneuvering away from her in a way that appeared as if her were merely shifting his feet.

"I can offer you wealth, power, everything you ever wanted."

"I have everything I ever wanted," Ian replied.  "There isn't anything you have that I want."

"What about my heart," she asked, gazing deeply into his eyes.

"You cannot offer that which you do not have," he replied, and as she was trying to recover from such a scathing insult, or perhaps it was a compliment in some circles, Ian collected the drinks and walked away.

While Ian was entangled with Isabella, Sara was approached by an older man in exquisite black Armani.  In his mid to late forties, she guessed with a practiced eye.  He was darkly handsome, perhaps Arabian or Egyptian, she wasn't sure.  He bowed politely and held out his hand.  She placed her hand in his, allowing him to kiss the back of it, then slipped her fingers free of his grasp before he could do anything else.

"My dear," he said smoothly.  "You are a rare and exquisite beauty.  Why is it I have not seen you before?  Has Kenneth been hiding you away?"

"Kenneth couldn't keep me if he wanted to," Sara replied, her amusement at Ian's internal reply of "don't worry" making her smile.  "There are some things even he can't buy."  The man chuckled, amused at her spunk.

"Indeed," he said, stepping closer.  "And what would it take to win you," he asked.

"You'd have to be able to catch me," she said, openly grinning now.  Ian was coming up behind with the drinks now.

"Not so difficult a task, I wager," he said, arrogantly sure of himself.

"Only one man's ever been able to do it," Sara replied, smiling past the man to Ian.  The man turned, saw Ian, and backed off a step.

"Keeping my Lady company, Mr. Assair," Ian asked pointedly, handing Sara her glass.  His emphasis on the "my" was not missed, and Mr. Assair backed off another step, making a short bow to Ian and excusing himself most politely.

"Well, that was fun," Sara remarked wryly.

"Forgive me, Sara," Ian said, sitting down next to her.  "I forgot in all the excitement to warn you about that."

"About what, being hit on by complete strangers?"  She was more amused than upset.

"About the politics," he told her.  "My appearance here as someone other than bodyguard to Irons has shifted the dynamics of power.  They are all wondering now what I represent and how it will affect them, and by extension, how you will affect them.  Also, it is something new and surprising, and there are few new and surprising things in the world for these people anymore."

"I'll bet," she said.  "Lets go check with Irons.  I still have no idea who we're looking for, and it's putting me a bit on edge."

"Of course, my love," he replied.  They finished their drinks and wound their way through the crowd to Irons' side.  As Ian spoke with Irons the Witchblade warmed on Sara's wrist.  She glanced up and saw a man in a black suit coat looking straight at them, coming through the crowd, a gun in the hand he was raising to point straight at them.

"Ian," she yelled, stepping closer to him, half in front of Irons, the Witchblade morphing into an organic-looking glove over her hand.  Ian's gaze snapped up, and he moved sideways towards her as the shot rang out.  The bullet tore through Ian's chest and out the back.  He lunged forward as one with Sara, and in two steps they hit the man together, taking him down to the ground.  Before Sara could do a thing Ian had snapped the man's neck, letting him fall, limp and lifeless, to the floor.  Guests were screaming and running for the doors, and noone thought to stop them from leaving.

The security guards came running, one of them calling for a medical airlift.  Dr. Immo was at Irons' side, trying to staunch the flow of blood coming from Irons' chest.  Ian came back to Irons' side, took one look at the position of the wound, and howled his grief to the skies.

"Father!" he screamed, one long tortured cry, knowing that Irons was already dead.  He fell to his knees, tears streaming down his face, Sara's arms coming around his shoulders.  She could feel his pain, physical and emotional.

"Ian, honey, we need to do something about your wounds," she said, trying to hold back the blood with her hands.  Ian would not respond, staring at the body of the only father he had ever known while his life seeped away down his chest and back. The Witchblade hissed and grew hot on her hand, still in it's strange organic form.  Sara stared as it extended thin tendrils into his chest.  The blood began to slow, and Sara could feel a lessening of his physical pain.  By the time the medical team arrived the tendrils were withdrawing and she could see the wounds knitting together, closing without so much as a scar.  A part of her mind marveled at this miracle of healing, the part that remained detached even at the most grizzly crime scene.  The part of her that loved Ian mourned with him as the medical team assessed the situation, then shook their heads and withdrew.

"Ian, love,"  Sara shook him, then took a risk and slapped him when he didn't respond.  His head snapped around, a snarl on his lips, his teeth bared, but he relaxed slowly when he came back to himself and realized it was her.

"He's gone, Sara," Ian said, his voice so lost and childlike her heart bled for him.

"I know, Ian," she replied, laying her hand against his cheek, tears still sliding down her face.  "But now isn't the time to fall apart.  The police are coming, and you have to get changed."

"Changed?"  He was confused.

"You have blood all over your clothes, and a bullet hole in your shirt, but no wound to go with it.  Unless you want to tell the police you got shot and some mystical bracelet healed you, you have to get cleaned up and changed."

"I was shot?"  Ian was clearly going into shock.  Despite the healing he had lost quite a bit of blood.

"Yes, you were," she said.  "Ian, you have to pull yourself together.  You're in charge now.  You have to fight this.  Don't let Irons down now, he trained you to be strong."

The last sentence finally penetrated his daze.  He made a great effort, shook off his mental fog, and stood.  He snapped orders to the security guards to seal off the property, noone in or out until he gave the word, including the police and the guests.  With Sara in step beside him he headed for his bathroom, stripping off his jacket and shirt as he went.  The rest of his clothes followed swiftly.  He wiped down quickly but thoroughly, Sara helping with his back.  She took the opportunity to wipe his blood off of her hands and arms, and noted with amazement there wasn't a single drop of blood on her dress.  He went to his room and dressed in the burgundy mock-neck he had bought for the trip to Mexico and a jacket similar enough to the one he was wearing earlier not to be remarked upon.  Soon he was striding back down the hall, Sara at his side.  Ian's second in charge of security fell into step beside them and filled them in on the situation.  The police were just arriving, but the press of people at the gate trying to get out was causing enough confusion for now that Ian had a little time to decide what to do.

Ian ran though things in his mind, his years of training and discipline taking over, coldly analyzing the situation and deciding what to do in the time it took to get back to the hall where the murder had happened.  He swept the scene with a professional eye, noting Iron's body laid out on the floor, the body of the killer in a heap with his head at an odd angle, Dr. Immo wiping the blood from his hands with a handkerchief.

"Royce, remove the video tapes of this event and lock them up.  There was no video surveillance tonight as far as the police are concerned.  I will go over them later to figure this out.  Now, Sara and I were talking with Irons when Sara saw that man pull out the gun and aim.  She screamed, I turned, we stepped towards each other as the man fired.  The bullet went between us to strike Irons in the chest.  Sara and I lunged for the killer while Dr. Immo tried to aid Irons.  The guests all panicked and fled.  I cannot remember exactly what happened after that, since I blacked out, but you all saw me fall to my knees, and I've been there ever since.  If you weren't actually here then tell the police exactly what you were doing.  Everyone clear?"

"But I saw you get shot," one young guard protested.  Ian stalked over to him, glaring at him.

"Do I look like I've been shot," Ian asked menacingly.

"Um, no," the young man said.

"Do you want to explain to the police how I got shot without getting wounded?" Ian demanded.  "Or perhaps you will tell them I got shot only to be miraculously healed.  Stick with what we can explain, and forget what anyone thinks he saw to the contrary."

"Yes, sir," the young man said.

"Mr. Nottingham," Royce said, listening to his radio.  "The police are coming in."

"Let them," Ian said, walking over to where the body of Irons lay, falling to his knees there.  He looked at the man who had been master, teacher, father to him and let the grief of loss overtake him.  When the police came in to establish the scene and start grilling witnesses Ian was sobbing into Sara's shoulder.  When a detective came over to question Ian Sara snapped at him and told him to give Ian some time.  No one could overrule her until the new Captain showed up and took over.

"Detective Pezzini, I'm your new boss, Captain Carter.  I'd like to speak with you now."  She nodded, disentangled herself from the much calmer Ian, told one of the security guards to get Ian some water, then followed Captain Carter across the room.

"What can I do for you, Captain," she asked.

"You can explain what you were doing here, for starters," he said.  He had read her file, and even allowing for Dante's prejudice he wasn't sure what to make of her.  Her police work was good, sometimes too good, as she played hunches that were right far more often than should be possible, and escaped impossible situations without a scratch.

"I'm engaged to Ian," she said, holding out her hand for him to inspect the ring, now returned to the proper finger.  "I came as his date."

"Even though he was in charge of security," the Captain asked in a way that made it a statement.

"Mr. Irons didn't have a problem with it, since I'm a cop," Sara told him.  "As far as he was concerned I was just another security guard, one he didn't have to pay for."

"Hmph, alright ," the Captain accepted her answer.  "Now, what happened?"

"Ian had wanted to ask Irons something," Sara began.  She gave the story as Ian had outlined it.  Really, the only change was not mentioning Ian had gotten shot and the Witchblade.  "When we tackled the guy I don't know what happened, because next thing I know his neck was broken."

"Did Mr. Nottingham do it, Detective," Carter asked her point blank. She looked him in the eye when she replied.

"I don't know what happened.  I didn't see it."  She held Carter's gaze, and he dropped his eyes first.

"Well, there's a lot more questions here than we have answers for," he sighed.  "Personally, I think your fiancée did it."

"If he did, it was either an accident or temporary insanity," Sara replied.  Carter eyed her.

"Temporary insanity," he asked, as if he didn't believe in any such thing.  Sara nodded.

"Irons was a father to Ian," Sara said.  "If I had been there when Gallo gunned down my father I would probably have done something like it.  I can understand Ian's grief.  Ask the medical personnel or the security guards.  Ian was pretty much incoherent."

"I already did, and one of the medical team remembered something like that. Alright, Pezzini, here's what I've decided.  We're gonna call this one an accident, no matter how hokey that sounds.  The guy's neck got broken in the fall when you and Mr. Nottingham tackled him, maybe while trying to get his gun from him.  Everyone saw this guy kill Mr. Irons, no one saw Mr. Nottingham deliberately snap his neck.  One less killer on the streets, no trial, no extra paperwork.  The guy got what he deserved."

Sara nodded, afraid to say anything.  The Captain started to walk off, then turned back.

"I know what it's like, Pezzini," he said quietly.  "I saw my mother gunned down in cold blood so some punk could steal her purse.  If I could have killed him, I probably would have too."

Sara went back to Ian, who was sipping at his water and answering questions.  The Captain gathered everyone up, got the bodies bagged and removed, then ushered everyone out to give Mr. Nottingham and his future bride some peace.  After about ten minutes, when everything was quiet again, except for one of the cleaning staff getting the blood off the floor, Ian stirred in the circle of Sara's arms.

"What did you tell the new Captain to get him to leave me alone," he asked.  "I expected to be hauled out of here in handcuffs, accused of murder."  Sara related the entire conversation, and Ian was very quiet for a while.  "I don't know what to do now," Ian said.

"What do you mean," Sara asked.

"Now, at this moment, I don't know what to do."  He sounded lost, and her heart hurt for him.

"Let me take you back to my place, Ian.  Away from all this.  Put you to bed.  Maybe you'll even sleep."

"My Lady, my love," he sighed.  "What would I do without you?"  He let her pull him to his feet and lead him away from the scene of his sorrows.

   [1]: http://www.angelfire.com/scifi2/aimspar



	10. Chapter 10

A/N: Well, I know I shocked a few of you, well okay most of you, with that last chapter, actually killing off Kenny.  I had my reasons, and have been planning this since they were in Mexico, actually.  I think this chapter will explain fairly well.  I tried to leave this chapter off at a fairly neutral point, because my sister is coming into town on Monday, and she'll be here til Feb. 7, and I don't expect to have much time to write while she'd here.  Reviews are vastly appreciated.  Thanks to all of you who have been posting them.  Oh, and anyone who is into the Heralds of Valdemar series of books, I'll be posting something in that section here shortly too.  As always, it can all be found at my web site www.angelfire.com/scifi2/aimspar which may be helpful to those new to my series who want to go back to the beginning.  All the stories are posted there in order.  Oh, and for the one who asked, I have no idea how much Sara's dress would actually cost, but I'm betting it was at least a couple thousand, including shoes.

When Ian awoke the next morning it was with a sense that the world wasn't real.  Sara was by his side, and nothing looked different in the apartment, but something nagged him.  Then memory came flooding back, and he dropped his head back to the pillow and just stared at the ceiling, trying to come to grips with a world without Irons and what it meant.  Sara felt him stir and sat up, leaning on one elbow to look down at him, and brushed a tendril of dark hair out of his eyes with gentle fingers.  He looked at her, his eyes full of tears, beseeching her to somehow make it all right again.  She just looked back at him with all the love she felt for him in her eyes, and didn't say any of the stupid things people tend to say at these moments, like "Everything will be okay," or "Are you alright?" because of course he wasn't alright.  Noone ever could be after something like that.

"Ian, honey, how can I help?"

"He's really gone, isn't he," Ian asked, the threatening tears spilling over to run down his cheeks and neck to wet the pillow.

"Yes, love, he is," she replied as gently as she could.

"It should have been me," Ian said, his voice hollow.

"It would have been, but the Witchblade healed you.  Ian, you did all you could, you would have died for him, but then you both would have been dead.  You stepped in front of the bullet for him.  It's not your fault it went through you.  You did everything you could.  I know it doesn't make it any better, but please don't blame yourself and make it worse."

"My responsibility," he said.  "I was in charge of security, and I even had forewarning.  I should have done something."

"Done what, Ian?"  She challenged him, if only to get him out of his depression and actually thinking, functioning again.  "We have no idea how that man got in with a gun, or even who he was.  We don't know who he worked for.  All we know is he had to have worked for or with someone else to have gotten in, because he wasn't a guest.  Until we know more about what happened we have no way of knowing what we should have done different."

Ian looked at her, letting what she said sink in, and as he thought about it his eyes grew hard.  She could see the thought processes as he shifted from mourning to anger, and with it the need for revenge.  He threw back the covers and started pulling on his clothes.  Sara rose and did the same, dressing in her practical jeans and t-shirt.  When Ian grabbed his coat and headed for the door Sara stopped him with a firm hand on his shoulder.

"Ian, you need to eat first.  You'll need your strength."

He stared at her as if she had grown another head, then nodded tightly.  She got him to sit down while she whipped up an omelet and toast, and made him coffee.  When she set the food in front of him he ate mechanically, his mind elsewhere.  Sara sighed and tried to draw him out.

"Ian, what's our next step?"

"Our?"  He finally looked at her, raising an eyebrow.

"Of course, our!  You don't think I'm going to just stand here and let you do this by yourself?"

"This is my fight, Sara," he said.  "You're a cop.  You can't do these things."

"I'm also the Wielder of the Witchblade, Ian.  There are things I do as the Wielder that the cop would never do.  It's my job to balance the dark forces, isn't it?  Whoever did this, I doubt they would ever receive conventional justice.  Besides, the Witchblade showed me this, that makes it my fight too.  And if you think I'm not gonna be right by your side through this, you're crazy."

He blinked, looked at her for a minute, then reached out his hand across the table to her, his expression softening.  She took his hand, held it tight, smiling sympathetically.

"I love you, Sara," he said softly.

"I love you, Ian.  We'll get through this together."

Ian's celphone rang, making them both jump at the shrill sound.  He pulled it out of his pocket, answered it, then frowned.  He listened for a minute, murmured an affirmation, then hung up.  Then he looked at Sara.

"We have to attend the Reading of Irons' Will at Vorschlag today at ten," he told her.

"We should change, then," she pointed out.  "And shower.  It's a good thing we already ate, we don't have much time."

Showered, dressed in appropriate clothes, and only a few minutes late, they walked into Irons' office and took the seats the attorney indicated.  There were two other people present, more attorneys from the looks of them, people Ian had never seen before.  Everyone introduced themselves and then settled, coffee at hand, and the Reading of the Will began.

"First," Irons' attorney began, "I'd like to introduce my colleagues.  Mr. Brent is from Barstow & Bigley, and Mr. Stowe is from Major & Johnston.  They are present as witnesses as a courtesy to you, in case anyone were to challenge the Will.  I find it highly unlikely that anyone would do so, but it never hurts to be cautious, especially with such a large estate.  They have both examined the Will at length and will vouch for the validity of the document.  All is in order."

"Thank you, Mr. Anderson," Ian said solemnly.

"Now, I won't go over the complete text of the Will, as it's quite wrapped up in legalese, and mostly unimportant except to us attorneys."  Mr. Anderson paused to give Sara a small smile at his joke.  "The basics of the Will are that you two are the sole heirs of his estate, to divide precisely evenly between you or hold jointly, however you see fit.  Mr. Nottingham is to be appointed C.E.O. of all the corporate holdings, although if you decide to split the stocks instead of holding jointly, the normal rules apply.  I'll see to all the details of the transference as soon as you decide what you want to do, but Mr. Irons made it very clear that he wished you, Mr. Nottingham, to take over his corporate holdings personally."

Ian and Sara were both stunned.  Sara couldn't believe that Irons would have left her anything at all, since they had been so at odds over the Witchblade.  After all their confrontations she had more expected Irons to stipulate Ian got everything if he never saw her again.  Ian was shocked that Irons had thought him capable of stepping into his shoes.

"Mr. Irons also left each of you a private letter to be read at your convenience, which I believe will further explain his reasons and wishes for the future."  The attorney slid the envelopes across the table to each of them.  "The original of the will is in my office, safely locked in my vault, but I'll leave the copy here for you to read over if you like.  If there aren't any questions, I'll go get started on the necessary arrangements.  You can let me know what you want to do about dividing the estate or holding it together later, but please try to make a decision within the next few days."

"Thank you, Mr. Anderson," Ian said, rising as the other three men got to their feet, seeing them to the door.  Then he returned to Sara's side.

"I'm confused, Ian," she said.  "Why would Irons leave me anything?  All I ever did was piss him off."

"I believe he admired you greatly for your strength and independence, even if they were contrary to his plans.  Perhaps he explains in the letter he left you."

"Should we read them now," she asked.

"I think we should," he replied, reaching for his envelope.  Within was a letter, in Irons' handwriting, on his cream and gold stationary.  Sara had a similar letter.

My Dear Ian;

As I write this, I feel the hand of time finally catching up with me.  Long have I thwarted it's grasp, but no one lives forever.  The Witchblade has severed my link with it at long last.  This has served to bring me some measure of peace from the burning need to possess it that has driven me for so long.  My eyes are clearer than they have been in some time, and I realize things now that I should have understood decades ago.  The Witchblade is not, and never was or will be, mine to possess or control.  Each Wielder has her own destiny, her own quest, to fulfill.  My role in this lifetime is finished.

A final lesson I impart to you, Son of my heart.  The Witchblade draws to it what it needs, only what it needs, to instruct it's Wielder.  This you know.  I was granted the gift of long life because I was the only one who could do what was necessary for the Wielder in this generation.  Every Wielder has a Guardian.  In times of old, this Guardian was taught to fight, to aid and support the Wielder in her tasks.  You are Sara's Guardian, Ian, meant to be with her through the trials ahead.  This world today would not have prepared you for such a role if I had not been manipulated by the Witchblade to need you.

You were born not far from here, but your mother died in childbirth.  Your father was never known.  The Witchblade showed me what I needed to know to find you and adopt you, to train you to be the Guardian, just as Sara's life trained her to be strong and independent.  I thought I was training you for my own purpose, my own will, but I was wrong.  Your attraction to the Wielder is natural, irresistible, your bond with her unbreakable.  You will follow her to the ends of the Earth and back again because of that bond.  I only hope for your sake she treats you kindly, because you won't have a choice.

But now you are trained, ready to be her Guardian, and the Witchblade no longer needs me.  The extra time I have been granted for my task is at an end.  I do not know how I will die, but I suspect it will be soon.  Do not mourn for me overlong, my son.  I have had more than my share of time, and all the pleasures this Earth has to offer.

I am leaving my vast empire to you and Sara equally, to share or not as you both see fit.  To you, I leave sole control of my corporate empire.  You are exceptionally intelligent, and have been by my side at most of my meetings.  You know all you need to know to step into my place and continue to build on what I have left you.  I have left Sara her share because she is proud and independent, and would not wish you taking care of her.  If you two join together, it will be as equals.  I have done all I can to assure that.

I am very proud of you, my son.  You are everything I had hoped for and more.  I pray that you can find happiness with Sara.  I love you, Ian.

                                                                                                                       Kenneth

Ian sat stunned, staring out the window, unable to even begin to think.  The information about his real parents was a complete shock.  He had always been told he had been created by Irons, and to a certain extent he supposed that was true, but to know he was a real flesh-and-blood man and not some freak created in a lab was something he had not expected.  He was relieved, and angry that Irons had deceived him for so long.  He read the letter again, trying to absorb all the implications of what it contained.

Sara opened her letter with no idea what to expect.  She had been completely caught off guard by inheriting half of Irons' vast estate, and it hadn't really sunk in yet that she was a billionaire and all that meant.

My Dear Sara;

I know I have surprised you, leaving you half of my estate.  Despite what you think of me and my motivations, I do admire you and wish you to fulfill your destiny as Wielder.  The fortune I have left to you will ensure you need never bother yourself with the pedestrian concerns of life so you can concentrate all your resources and attention on the battles ahead.  I know you feel I tried to manipulate you for my own purpose, but it was all a part of the Witchblade's design.  I was as caught in the web of it's influence as anyone else.  Consider, the more I tried to control you, the more you asserted your independence and stubbornness.  These traits will serve you well in the future.

I was given a task by the Witchblade, that of raising and training your Guardian.  Ian is bound to you and will serve you well.  He is as powerful and intelligent as his innate abilities, science, and training can make him.  No other is his equal, and you are the only one who can exceed him.  Please treat him well.  Despite appearances, I do love him and wish him what happiness he can find in this life.  Let him train you in combat, for you have much to learn, despite your natural instincts and aid from the Witchblade.  The battles ahead of you will only become more and more difficult.  Your task has only just begun.

It is my hope that you will choose to share your inheritance with Ian, holding the estate together.  Ian has great intelligence and all the training he needs to run my companies, but he has rarely exerted his free will, and I suspect he will greatly need your help in the beginning.  My corporate holdings are vast, and it will take much of his time and energy to establish his leadership at first.  Be patient with him.

I encourage you to investigate my library.  There are many answers there to your questions about the Witchblade.  Ian can help you locate the proper section.  My research by no means holds all the answers, but it may serve to give you a greater understanding of your destiny, and prepare you somewhat for what lies ahead of you.  I wish you success, Sara.

                                                                                                                               Kenneth

Sara was stunned, reconsidering many things she had thought about Irons.  Apparently, Irons wanted Ian and Sara to be together.  And she would finally be able to learn more about the Witchblade.  She was excited by the prospect.  Although she wasn't so sure about living in this huge manor, just the two of them.  She read the letter again, then glanced over at Ian.  He was deep in thought, so she got up, walked across the office and poked her head out the door to ask the secretary to have something brought up to eat, and some more coffee.  Then, to kill time, she looked over the Will.  From what she could tell it was exactly as the lawyer had said, and wrapped tight in such a neat legal bow that she couldn't see anyone daring to challenge it.

When lunch arrived Ian still hadn't spoken or moved, so Sara poked his arm and said his name sharply.  He started, turned, and gave her a somewhat weak grin.

"I thought you might want to eat something," she said, passing him a plate of Caesar chicken salad.

"Thank you, my love," he smiled.  I don't know what I would do without you."

"You'd starve," she said, grinning, trying to lighten his spirits.  He smiled back.  "So what has you so deep in thought that you don't even notice lunch being brought in," she asked.

"The implications of what Irons had to say in his letter," Ian said, passing it over to Sara.  "What we are to do from here, all the things that need to be done, and quickly, so Irons' empire doesn't collapse or get taken over.  What we are going to do.  The future, the past."

"Yeah, I know what you mean," she said.  She read over the letter quickly, raising her eyebrows at a few points.  "Wow, Ian," she said.  "That certainly explains a few things."

"Yes," he half-smiled.  "It does."

"So what do we do next," she asked.

"I have things I must do here," he said.  "Business to attend to.  I would appreciate your help with the surveillance tapes of the party.  Royce has them back at the manor.  I will call him and instruct him to aid you in your investigation."

"Sounds good," she said.

"Shall I inform Mr. Anderson that we will be holding the estate jointly," Ian asked, knowing what her answer would be but asking anyway.

"Makes sense," she replied.  "Why keep the estate separate now when we'll be getting married and combining it again anyway?  Although I don't know what we'll do with all that space."

"We can close off the parts of the house we don't intend to use," Ian replied.  "We've got time to figure all that out later.  For tonight I think I'd rather meet you back at the apartment."

"One step at a time, huh," she asked.  He nodded.  "Sounds good to me.  Alright, I'll go get started on the tapes.  Let me know when you're finished for the day, and I'll meet you back at home.  And remember I'm only a thought away."

"Thank you, Sara," Ian said gravely, taking her hand.

"I love you, Ian," she replied, rising to give him a hug.  She grabbed her jacket and went out.  Ian sat for a few minutes, staring out the window.  Then he shook himself and called his secretary and began his work.


	11. Chapter 11

A/N:  I didn't really take the time to proofread this, since my sister is still in town until Friday and I am pretty busy, so please forgive any editing mistakes.  I hope I didn't leave you guys hanging too long, and also hope you guys enjoy the new chapter.  Please R/R and let me know what you think.  I love hearing from all of you!

Sara took Ian's car over to the manor on Faust Street.  Ian had called ahead and informed Royce in no uncertain terms that Sara was to be given everything she asked for, and for Royce to provide her with her own set of keys and security codes.  Royce met her at the gate personally, and showed her up to the surveillance room after handing over her new set of keys.  He passed her the video tapes of the party and she selected the one where Irons got shot.  There were several different tapes because of several different security angles, but she figured she would have to go through all of them before she was done, but she figured she would try to work her way backwards, following the man from where he shot Irons backwards to where he came in from, and maybe figure out who he came with that way.

"I'll need a pad of paper and a pen," she told Royce.  "And the guest list from the party.  I also want a complete list of every employee on the premises yesterday, as well as a list of every delivery with times and so forth.  If the guards at the gate kept a log of who went in and out I want to see that too.  Basically, I want to know every single person who set foot on the premises yesterday, when they were here, and why.  When you have that in motion, then I'll need you to help me go through the tapes."

"There are others who can help with that," Royce began, but was cut off by Sara.

"We're going on the assumption that every single person on the premises yesterday has a chance of being involved in this," she told him.  "Ian is certain you couldn't have had a hand in this, so that's why you're helping me.  But everyone else is under suspicion, and the less others know about what we are doing or are involved in the investigation, the greater our chance of finding the real culprit or culprits."

"You think it could have been more than one," Royce asked, somewhat startled by her attitude, but being professional enough to understand her reasoning and agree with it.

"Do you think a single man with a death-wish could have gotten past all of your and Ian's security without help?" she challenged.  Royce thought about it for a moment then shook his head.

"No, you're right.  We were double-checking everyone and everything before the party," he said, grimacing.  "My best guess is he came with one of the guests."

"I agree," Sara said.  "But we can't rule out any other options just yet."

"Of course not," he said.  "I'll go gather those things you wanted.  It shouldn't take me more than a few minutes."

While Royce was gone Sara started fast-forwarding through the tape, trying to find the point where Irons was shot.  She finally found it, then put the tape into slow reverse, watching as the murderer walked backwards through the crowd to the hallway.  She noted the time-stamp on the recording, then started rooting through the stack of tapes, trying to find the one for the hall.  When she found that she wound forward and repeated the procedure again, following the killer backward up the hallway.  Eventually she traced him back to a small room where all the limo drivers were hanging out, waiting for their employers to need them again.

"Find anything," Royce asked as he came back with a stack of papers, notepad, pens, and a carafe of coffee and two cups.

"I traced the guy backwards from the hit to the limo driver's waiting room," she said, flashing him a grateful smile as he handed her a steaming cup.  "He entered, chatted with the rest of them, nothing suspicious about him, then walked down the hall, into the party after a chat with one of your guys at the door, and calmly walked over and shot Irons."

"I talked to my man at the door," Royce said.  "According to the killer he had been sent with an urgent message for his employer.  He had been rather insistent that it couldn't wait, something about her father being sick, and she needed to go see him in the hospital."

"Huh," Sara said.  "Complete lie, of course."  She thought for a minute, sipping her coffee.  "Alright, lets follow the tape back to where he entered, get the time, then start searching the arrivals, find out who he came with.  I also want a good clear shot of his face printed out.  Can you do that here?"

"Sure," Royce said.  He watched as Sara scrolled the tape backwards.  "There," he said, hitting the pause.  Frame by frame he scrolled forward again until he found the one perfect frame he was looking for, then sent the image to the printer.  Sara looked at the print-out, nodded.

"This is good," she said.  "I'm going to send this to a friend of mine in the F.B.I. and see what he can turn up."

"If you want to do that," Royce said, "then we'll just do a screen capture and e-mail it to him."

"Even better," Sara said.  While Royce was doing that she swung her chair over to the computer and composed a quick e-mail to Jake, had Royce attach the picture file, and sent it off.  She pulled out her celphone and called Jake, ending up leaving him a message when he didn't pick up.

"Here's the tape of the arrivals," Royce said, sliding it into another vcr and bringing it up on a second monitor.  Royce scrolled forward through all of the arrivals up to the point in time where he was recorded entering the waiting room with the other drivers, but didn't locate him.  "That's strange," he murmured.

"What's strange," Sara asked, still scrolling backwards through the tape of the hallway to the waiting room, trying to find when the killer arrived there.

"He didn't come with any of the limos," he said.  "At least not as far as I could see."

"Hm," she said.  "Ah, there." She had found the spot where the man entered the room from the hallway and followed it backwards.  Three tapes later they had discovered he had not entered the grounds as a limo driver, but a caterer.  He had come with the truck that had delivered the fresh meats and seafood, one of four guys, but had not left with them.  He had managed to slip into a small room in the servant's wing where there was no cameras, but when he came out he had changed his clothes and now looked like the limo driver they had been tracking.

"Someone had to have helped him," Sara said.  "Or he's been on the grounds before.  He knew right where to go, and the clothes were there waiting for him.  He didn't carry anything in with him.  So either he hid them there at some earlier point in time, or someone else hid them for him."

"That's a linen room," Royce told her.  "There are plenty of places to hide a set of clothes, and since there are several rows of shelves there's places to hide yourself too."

"Whoever is responsible for this, they set this up well in advance," Sara said, thinking.  "It's possible this guy acted alone, but it's more likely he worked with someone who knew the manor."

A shrill mechanical sound cut through the relative quiet of the room, causing Sara to jump and Royce to flinch.  She cursed and pulled out her celphone.

"Pezzini, go," she said, her usual greeting.

"Hey, Sara, it's Jake," the young F.B.I agent said on the other end.  "Got your e-mail and your message.  I ran your guy through our database, and he comes up as one Henry Taylor, a homicide detective out of the 8th Precinct that got fired with prejudice a few years ago because he was dirty.  I also called Vicky and she confirms his identity as being the guy that shot Irons.  According to my data he hasn't held another job until recently, when he got hired on at a specialty meat company about a month ago."

"Let me guess," Sara said.  "All City Meats."

"Bingo," Jake confirmed. "Sara, this guy had a family.  It had to have been one hell of a reason for him to do something like this.  No way he would have expected to get out alive."

"Then there's probably a money trail," Sara guessed.  "Anything else?"

"Not at the moment," he said.  "If something turns up I'll let you know."

"Thanks, Jake."

"Any time, Sara.  Just keep your old partner in the loop, okay?"

"Sure Jake," she agreed.  "I owe you a beer and a game of pool for this."

"I'll hold you to it," he said, and she could hear the eager smile in his voice.  Grinning, she hung up.

"Your friend in the F.B.I. was helpful," Royce guessed.

"Somewhat," she said.  "I could have found all this out myself, but it would have taken longer and raised a few questions.  I'm still technically on vacation, and this isn't my case.  Which means I have to let my new Captain know what we've found."

"But we already told him we didn't have surveillance tapes," Royce said.  "How are you going to explain how we figured all this out, or how we got the screen shot of the killer?"

"Did you tell him you didn't have any tapes at all, or just that you didn't have a tape of the murder," Sara asked.

"Come to think of it, I told him we didn't have a tape of the murder.  I didn't say anything about the rest of the house, and we can always say the surveillance was turned off for the party to assure the guests their privacy."

"Great," Sara said.  "I'm going to take these in to Captain Carter, explain what we found.  Lets go down to the linen room and see if there's anything this Henry Taylor left behind.  If he left his work clothes there, as I suspect, we'll need to bag them and take them in.  The scene isn't so critical anymore because they already know who the guy is, so gathering up the uniform should be enough."

They did what Sara outlined, finding the uniform from the meat company under a pile of towels in the back corner of the room.  She stuffed them into a plastic bag and headed out to the 11th Precinct to talk with her Captain.  

It felt odd, walking back into the precinct as if she'd never been gone.  Her life had been turned upside-down in the last few days, and she hadn't had the chance to absorb it yet.  This had always been her home, more than her apartment ever could be.  She had been a homicide detective for a majority of her life, and she was good at it.  She was proud of what she did, knowing her work made a difference to the people she helped.  There were people here she worked with, socialized with, and called friend.  Most of them called out greetings or waved as she went past.  What would she do if she never came back here, if she left the job?  Who would she be?

She shook those unsettling thoughts out of her head and knocked on the Captain's door.  Noone else was in the room with him, but he was on the phone.  He saw her and waved her in, cutting his phone call short, looking at the bag in her hand pointedly before greeting her.

"Detective Pezzini," he said.  "Is that for me?"

"Yes, sir," she said, handing over the bag.  "There's the uniform Kenneth Irons' killer wore to get onto the grounds, and the surveillance tapes of the night of the party."  Carter raised his eyebrows.

"The security guy at Irons' estate told me there weren't any tapes," he said.

"There weren't any tapes of the murder," she clarified.  "They had been turned off in the entry and the room the party was in for the privacy of the guests, but they were still on in other parts of the house.  The man you talked to was very shaken up, considering his employer had just been murdered, and he was only thinking about the actual murder and completely overlooked the fact the rest of the tapes might be useful."

"I see," Carter said.  "Well, I'll let that slide, since he obviously realized his error and corrected it by giving the tapes to you to bring in.  What's on them."

"Henry Taylor was working for All City Meats, and he helped with the delivery for the party, but he neglected to leave with the rest of the crew.  He obviously planned this in advance, because he knew exactly where to go.  He hid in a small room where linens are stored, waiting until guests started arriving.  He changed into a limo driver's uniform, then strolled as casual as you please to join them where they all waited for their employers.  From there he invented some story about an urgent phone call to his supposed employer about a sick father, got admitted to the party, and shot Irons."

"Hm," Carter thought for a minute, likely drawing the same conclusions she herself had drawn earlier.  "Thank you, Detective.  I'll let Peterson know what you've told me."

"Peterson's got the case?"  Sara grinned.  "He's a good man."

"Detective," Carter said, and she could feel a shift in his mood.  "I know you have three more days left of your leave-time.  If you want to come back early, we could use you.  I know you understand I can't assign you to the Irons case when you come back, because of your personal connection to it.  I also know you are a very good detective and won't be able to resist looking into this on your own time.  I won't object as long as you continue to share your findings with me."

"That's…very understanding of you, Captain," she said, taken aback.  She was really beginning to like Carter.  At every turn he demonstrated an understanding of his people and a compassion so often lacking in the job.  "I think I'm going to take advantage of my remaining leave to figure some things out," she said.  "Everything has happened so fast recently, and I'm still trying to get my head on straight."

"If you find you need more time, come discuss it with me," he said.  "I don't want you out in the field if you can't focus.  It could get someone killed."

"Yes, sir," she nodded.  "Thanks."

She left his office feeling a lot better about coming back to work, if that's what she chose to do.  She decided to head down to the morgue and see Vicky.  Passing through the empty halls, Danny stepped out from a side corridor, causing her to jump.  She took a moment to catch her breath.

"Jesus, Danny," she swore, the beginnings of a smile hovering around her lips.  "Do you have to scare me like that?"

"Sorry," he said.

"And what bit of wisdom do you have for me today, Partner," she asked.

"Your Captain is a good man," Danny observed.  "Wish I could have known him."

"Yeah, well, I still prefer Joe," she said, a suspicion of tears making her eyes bright.

"So did I," he replied softly.  "Sara, your greatest challenges still lie before you.  Remember that you have a destiny, and noone else can fulfill it."

"I know, Danny," she said, frustration roughening her voice.  "But I still haven't figured out how I'm supposed to bring sanity back to the human race.  I mean, where do I start?  How do I start?"

"Sara," Danny said, recapturing her attention.  "You take it one battle at a time.  The Witchblade will show you, and Ian will help you.  You aren't alone in this."

"Thanks, Danny," she said, smiling up at him, somewhat relieved by his advice.

"Any time, Partner."  He smiled at her, then vanished when she glanced away at a sound down the corridor.  She just shook her head and continued to the morgue to see Vicky.


	12. Chapter 12

A/N: Hi all.  Sorry I haven't posted in a while.  Let's just say that there are worse things than doing 2 sets of taxes, one for me and one for grama.  Life has not been kind lately, and without my beloved boyfriend I would have gone stark raving mad.  I'm getting my feet back under me, tho, and I hope you like what I came up with after my long absence.  Please R/R and let me know what you think.

Gathering Storm: Chapter 12

Ian watched, barely suppressing a sigh, as the last man left.  He had been in meeting after meeting today, dealing with ambitious idiots who thought they could walk all over him.  Irons had kept him in the shadows for so long they had come to ignore him, these powerful men and women of business, and they thought him of little consequence as a result.  It had taken quite a bit of persuading and threatening to convince them he was not just a force to be reckoned with, but THE force to be reckoned with.  There would still be attempts to wrest control of the vast and various resources of Irons' empire from him, Ian knew, but for the most part the transition had gone smoothly.  He would deal with the individuals who continued to cause trouble when they made their moves.  For now he had done all he could.

After a quick word to his secretary, Ian headed out of the office and down the hall to his private gym.  He was taut as a bowstring, and the tension needed to be worked out.  The intellectual games were stimulating to him, but they created energy that needed a physical outlet.  After a quick change into a t-shirt and sweats he started with a warm-up of martial arts katas.  The smooth movements flowed from one position to the next, slowly increasing in speed but never losing their precision.  After he was sufficiently warmed up he turned to the heavy bag, grinning as he laid into the thick leather with a ferocity that mimicked Sara's workouts.  He pummeled the bag until his knuckles ached, then turned to free weights, and after that the treadmill, running until he was exhausted and glistening with sweat.

Ian wiped down the machine and tidied up the room before passing through the door at the other end from the hallway.  A small but well-stocked bathroom awaited his needs.  He showered leisurely, enjoying the feel of the steaming hot water running through his hair and over his chest, arms, and back.  When he was clean and dry again he pulled his hair back into its ponytail and dressed again in his suit, musing that a shopping trip was definitely in order.  He had a store of what Sara would call his "stalker outfits" here, but he would need extra business clothes here as well.  Making a mental note to call Rachel at the boutique and have several new outfits sent over, he finished messing with his hair and headed down the hall and out of the building.  He made his way to Sara's apartment as quickly as traffic allowed, eager to see her, and find out what she had learned about Irons' killer.

As he drove through traffic his thoughts turned to his former employer and the only father he had ever had.  His chest tightened and his eyes began to sting.  Their relationship had been abnormal to say the least.  Irons had been viciously cruel, controlling, and ruthless with Ian, but the older man had also had a fondness for the boy he raised, a pride in his creation, and affection for the one person who was always there by his side.  Ian found he missed those times when Irons would smile in approval of Ian's quick grasp of a situation or a job well executed, figuratively or literally, whichever the situation called for.  He missed the moments of intimacy when Irons would share his thoughts with Ian or ask Ian's opinion on something.  And he would treasure forever the moment when Irons had finally said he was proud of him.

Vaguely surprised, Ian realized thoughts of his father didn't cause him the tearing pain they had the night before when he had broken down and sobbed in Sara's arms, or this morning when he had awakened.  He wondered if that was normal.  The sorrow and sense of loss were still there, but they were something he could think past, not the debilitating waves they had been. He wondered if it was because he had Sara now, or perhaps he had accepted that it was indeed time, as Irons had said in his letter.  He was very grateful he had Sara to help him though this, because without her love he feared he would have gone insane.

Ian was very introspective when he got to the apartment.  Sara was already there, fixing dinner, which in this case meant spooning Chinese food out of the little white boxes and onto plates.  She sensed his mood before he opened the door and simply gave him a strong hug.  He held onto her for a minute like a man drowning, then kissed her sweetly and they went in to eat.

"Did you find out anything about the killer," Ian asked around a mouthful of Hunan beef.

"I did," she replied.  "Hold on," she said, slipping out of her chair to grab a file folder.  She had killed time waiting for him to come home by typing her findings up report-style, adding the picture Royce had printed up earlier and his notes on the case as well.  He scanned her findings quickly, memorizing everything, then thought for a minute.  Sara gave him time, using his distraction as an opportunity to snag the last two fried prawns for herself.

"I know this man," Ian said after a moment.  "The incident that got him fired was something Dante had put him up to."

"He was a White Bull," Sara asked, though she had already guessed it.  Ian nodded.

"You noted here that Ms. Po found he had cancer, that he was dying from it," he said.  "It's likely someone paid his widow a large amount of money to do this job.  Follow the money, find the culprit."

"Yeah," Sara agreed.  "But the question is why.  I mean, coming after you I could see, especially after all the damage you did, but this guy was definitely after Irons."

"Perhaps they thought I was under orders, and if they eliminated Irons I would stop coming after them, since they failed to take me out directly.  I'll ask him before I kill him, whoever it is."

"Ian, I'm still a cop," she reminded him.  "Don't tell me things like that.  I had to give the same information to my Captain or he could have me up on Obstruction of Justice charges."

"Of course, love," he replied.  "I understand.  Have you decided whether you will continue to be a police detective or not?"

"No," she sighed.  "I want to talk to you about that, but it can wait.  I'm pretty mixed up about it.  More time may help.  What were you up to all day?"

"Meetings," he spat with disgust.  She grinned at his tone.  "Long meetings with obtuse people.  You have no idea how hard it was not to bash their heads into the table.  They desperately needed sense knocked into them."

"After dealing with Dante I have a pretty good idea," Sara replied.  His lips quirked up into a smile.

"Perhaps you do," he conceded.  "I swear each and every one of those people challenged my authority and my ideas.  They thought I was nothing more than an ignorant bodyguard."

"I bet you surprised the hell out of them," she said.

"I wish you could have been by my side," he said wistfully.

"You didn't need me there losing my temper," she pointed out.  "And I would have been little help on the business side of things.  I got more done working on the murder case."

"I know," he sighed.  "I still wish you had been there."

"You'll have to start teaching me about all this business stuff sometime soon," she said.  "Otherwise I won't know how to manage my half of everything."

"Speaking of your half," Ian said, pulling out his wallet.  "The attorney dropped these by today."  He handed her a stack of cards.

"What are these for," she asked, looking at the various credit and check cards with her name on them.  Ian pointed to each in turn as he explained.

"That one accesses your new personal checking account," he tapped the check card.  "Those three are for different accounts from different corporate holdings around the world. And the last one is your general credit card."

"Wow," she said, staring at all the different sources of money.  "How much do I have," she asked.

"Well, most of your net worth is in the company holdings, stocks, real estate, corporate assets, so your cash holdings are considerably less than the billions you are worth," Ian explained.  "You have no limit on the credit card, technically, but I'd say you have access to at least two million in cash at any point in time."

"Two million?!" Sara spluttered.

"At least.  You should feel free to purchase anything you like," Ian kept going, enjoying her utter shock.  "Your account will only continue to grow as quarterly dividends are deposited.  I highly doubt you will be able to spend it all."

"God, Ian, this is so much to absorb."  She shook her head, staring at the plastic in her hands.  "I've always been a cop, and you know the only rich cop is a dirty cop.  I'm not used to this."

"It's alright, my lady," he said, taking her hands in his.  "You have plenty of time to get used to it.  One more thing, the funeral is Saturday.  We are both expected to attend, and then host the wake afterward at the mansion."

"What do we need to do for that," she asked, not relishing another gathering so soon.

"Mr. Irons gave his attorney instructions for the funeral service and so forth, so there is nothing we need do there but attend.  For the rest of it, the staff at the manor have been given instructions already and the caterers have been called.  Everything is arranged, and all we have to do is preside over the occasion."

"All we have to do, hm?" Sara grimaced.  "That's like saying all we have to do is swim through a tank of hungry sharks."  She frowned and he chuckled.

"The worst of it is there will be reporters at the funeral service, though they will be barred from the premises of the manor.  They will all want to interview us, as the heirs to Mr. Irons' extensive personal and business holdings."

"I don't want to talk to them," Sara muttered.

"I agree that the funeral is not the time to speak to the press, but eventually we will have to at least make a statement.  The stories they will concoct in the absence of our statements will eventually become pretty wild."

"What do you suggest, then, Ian," she asked.

"I suggest we say nothing until we can arrange for an exclusive interview with one of the VCN reporters.  We will be able to get a list of questions beforehand so we can decide how best to answer them without betraying the Witchblade or anything else we don't want to explain."

"Okay," she agreed, then sighed.  "Ian, I don't know if I'm ready for all of this.  I'm just a cop, for God's sake."

"Sara, my love, you were never 'just a cop', you know that."  He took her hands in his across the small table.  "You are the strongest woman I have ever known.  You can do anything.  And I will be right by your side."

"Oh, Ian," she replied, a suspicion of tears in her eyes.  "You are the strong one.  Here you are dealing with the loss of your father, taking over the businesses, arranging everything for the funeral and wake, and figuring out how to deal with the press, and somehow you still manage to be strong for me too.  And here I am being selfish worrying about myself when I should be the one being strong for you for a change.  I guess I've come to rely so much on your support I forget you may need supporting too from time to time."

"Just knowing I will not be doing any of this alone is the best support you could give me, my love," Ian said, wiping away her guilty tears.  "And truth be told, I am not as troubled by Mr. Irons' death as I thought I would be."

"How do you mean," she asked.

"I think it was mostly what he said in his letter to me, knowing he was going to die, that his part in the Witchblade's schemes was over, that makes it easier to accept.  There is still loss and sorrow, but not the tearing grief there was at first.  Perhaps knowing he accepted his death made it easier for me to accept as well.  And I think knowing the reason why helps too.  Most people don't get any answers."

"I've seen that all too often in my work," Sara said, nodding.  "There are always so many questions without answers, and we just hope every case that we can answer some of them, bring a measure of peace to those left behind."

"Do you love your work, Sara," Ian asked, very seriously.  Sara considered carefully for a while.

"I think it's more that I have a passion for it," she replied, feeling her way along as she went, examining it as she never had before.  "I've just always known I would be a cop like my dad, and I'm good at it.  For most of my life it has been the focus of my life, who I am.  But something went out of it after Joe retired, and Dante came in.  I'm just not sure if it's something I want to keep doing, now that I don't have to.  I've watched too many people die."

"But?" Ian prompted, knowing there was more.

"But I'm scared, Ian," she said.  "It's all I know how to be, all I have ever been.  Being a Detective is a large part of who I am, and to give that up scares the hell out of me."

"But Sara," Ian said, shaking his head.  "You have always been more than the Detective.   You have been a friend, a daughter, a lover, a partner, and you have become the Wielder.  You will become a wife, and possibly a mother, you have become an heiress to a multi-billion dollar fortune and a very powerful person in the business world.  You are all these things and more.  You cannot change what is.  But you do have the option of deciding whether you will continue to be a Detective along with all these other things, or if you will allow that part of your life to close and concentrate your energy on all the other things that you are."

"It sounds like you want me to quit my job," Sara said, almost accusingly.

"What I want is for you to be happy with your decision," Ian said.  "I am playing Devil's Advocate here, and taking the opposite position that you did.  I will admit I would very much like you to be free to be by my side, sharing the responsibilities of running our businesses, but I do not want you to quit your job if it will make you unhappy."

"I'm still not sure, Ian," she said.  "I'm not even used to the fact I never need to wait for another paycheck to buy groceries again."

"As I said, you have time," he reassured her.  "Nothing needs to be decided now.  Perhaps you can have your Captain extend your leave of absence.  You will have to ask him to in any case, because you were scheduled to return to duty the day of the funeral."

"Damn, that's right," she noted.

"Sara," Ian said, capturing her eyes with his.  "You know I will support whatever you decide to do."

"I know, Ian," she smiled.  "You have no idea how much that means to me."

"Why don't you show me," he asked with a suggestive quirk of his eyebrows.  She laughed and let him lead her to the bedroom, where they took turns showing each other most of the night.


End file.
